I had raclette for dinner. I’m wearing a warm sweater and I’m starting to write letters and watch films on Netflix again. Autumn is coming. As if winter had long fingers and their tips were already brushing you here and there, you can’t really tell yet whether it was a touch or just imagination. Much too early and we all waited so longingly for this summer, the summer after the lockdown, which wasn’t a real summer at all. I’m not really through this lockdown sleepiness, at the same time I’m so hungry for life it hurts. Who wiill wake me up?
I create activities for myself in order not to remain in melancholy: drawing, learning Arabic song lyrics. But the activities seem to me to be vain and self-referential, since they arise only from my own curiosity and have no external goal. Like it’s a crime to have intellectual needs.
Right now I have trouble imagining the beauty of autumn, the storms outside, the warmth inside, with books and tea and cookies and peace. Maybe I had too much of all of this last year and that’s why I no longer look for it. And I also push away a lot. Push away what this pandemic means in the long term and that it will no longer be the same as it was before. Sometimes I still dream of long journeys on which I discover many things, but in reality I don’t feel comfortable while traveling at all even inside Germany. And I will miss people. I’ve never had problems being alone, but the long period of self-isolation has created some kind of break, it suddenly has a hardship for me that it didn’t have before. And the isolation phase will soon begin again. Even if there will no longer be an official lockdown, it is better to be careful if you are not completely stupid.