Saturday, November 20, 2010

Disappearing Days

"What did you do today?"

It's the most anxious moment of my day. My mother sits behind the family computer, eying me with half-interest. It's the part of the day when I must make an account of my idleness. Another uneventful day. I usually respond with something like, "I did all the dishes. And I read." But today, when my mother asked me that dreaded question, I drew an unexpected blank.

"I can't remember," I told her. "It seems like the whole day just evaporated."

It did seem that way.

Today I read a little. I practiced the piano a little. And I...I...

I lost a day.

And so I approach the second most anxious moment of the day--writing time--with a tinge of regret.

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