Thursday!

I know it's Thursday because I'm not done with my homework and I have that cold clench-y feeling in my stomach. I remember that feeling from riding the bus in high school. I have always had a gift for procrastination, that's why I was so determined that my children not be. (Sorry, guys.) I've worked on it, I really have, but I wove myself a pretty tangled web last week and I'm having trouble maneuvering through it. I'll keep at it.

Damn, it's cold again and windy. Mmm, more winter.

I was too tired to post my writing last night so here it is. I'll do today's later.

February 18--Edouard Manet, The Fifer. He looked too young, too small and serious as he marched at the front of the honor guard. His small face so focused on playing the music, looking as if the notes were written in front of him. His lips were pursed as if for a kiss but his smooth cheeks betrayed his extreme youth and lack of opportunities. In his black and red uniform with its peaked cap, and exact replica of the men in ranks behind him, he looked as if he should be on top of a cake instead of marching to a military air down the Champs Elysee.

Not bad for a midnight attempt. See you later.
--Barbara