It is close to 11 and I have worked up a huge sweat in the kitchen making the most epic breakfast cookies (something like a cross between angela's and jacqui's) It has the goodness of apples + carrots + bananas almonds + walnuts + raisins + coconut + oats + flax seed + cinnamon. I am buzzing with energy, probably conserved from the whole week of inaction. I could run a marathon, but my shoes are bloody.

While friends are bemoaning their obsessive-compulsive tendencies for studying that warranted external physical restraint from more than 3 hours of math practice, today I went to the japanese dollar store and picked up:

1. a sushi teacup
2. a ceramic dish with 'delicious' written in pink glaze
3. an onigiri maker
4. a chopstick warmer for lunchbox

and shopped for clothes:

1. a black zara cardigan
2. an over-sized pink chiffon top, which doubles up as a dress

and picked up lunch from cedele for sister and I :

1. organic apple juice with wheat grass, pineapple and lemon
2. roast chicken and avocado ciabatta sandwich
3. rice salad with squash, sesame seeds, parsley, olive oil

"The whole house is infused," says Mother. If there is anything I wish I could do for the rest of my life it would be to run an underground kitchen. I find myself lapsing back into old mental processes, judging my day's worth based on what I have accomplished. Today would have ranked low - I have been far too indulgent. Studying was a mere two hours spent on Dickinson critical readings, though in the living room afternoon sunshine over french press café au lait. Tomorrow morning I will go to church, and I will promis myself that this will not warrant any form of guilt.

11:11 seems like a foreign friend. I have missed this time for weeks.