The night has gone fast. Lately I feel as if the nights are too short to really give the rest and energy.

My son has the habit to spook around like a ghost, slamming with the doors until deep at night. A big moody correction from me finally keeps him in his room; and armored with a painkiller I managed to fall half asleep.

The morning is the reverse of the evening. My stomach is clearly upset with its task to digest efficiently. My son complains about his laundry. So I remind him that he chose to ignore my warning when the bathroom was renovated and that he has to face the consequences. It is a morning ritual that repeats itself.

He is like a mountain that erodes slowly into moldable sand.

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