The words aren’t coming and usually that’s my fault. I wad up my sense holes with dopamine doped fluff and the ooze of it bungs up my brain. I lose the element of surprise so I can’t write anything interesting at all. The writing I have done in the last week or so has been the drip drip of mucus out from the congested sinus and onto the page. Scenes I’ve poked at move glacially slowly through their outlines without interest.

It’s the weekend and I don’t want it. I sound depressed and I don’t think I am. Not yet, anyway. I just want to burrow and burrow down. Sarah’s woundedness is good cover to cancel, quit, and avoid things. She’s the one driving the agenda to get out amongst it tomorrow though. I have to buy some ski boots.

Even on the short walk to the supermarket for yet more groceries we were passing the ropey Kneipe on the corner and a scene there threw me for a loop. A taxi had halted in the middle of the lane and both passenger side doors were wide open. A group of six or so men in coats were shouting back and forth to one another in a scatter across the pavement and roadway, perhaps traipsing out of the bar and into the taxi and trying not to leave the straggler behind. They were so many and so loud and so chaotically hanging out the side of this taxi that it looked like some sort of clown carjacking. I lost my train of thought.

I’ve had too many screens for too long today, and the day before. When I close my eyes I get that spinning feeling that makes me feel a bit sick right away. Tomorrow we buy ski boots. In the evening we’ll go to Passage to see that Iranian film. We like to reward ourselves with the good screen, the best screen.

I wonder if I can get to Bauhaus to have them cut some timber for me so I can build a desk thing. Time at the farm house doing renovations (picking up and carrying what I’m told to bring) has given me unruly ideas about crude joinery solving my problems.

Finally, finally, I’ve applied for German citizenship. In the end, I submitted a web form.