What becomes of the brokenhearted

Temperature: a sunshiny 7.5/45.5 degrees, but the Arctic cold is making a comeback. Oh well, spring is coming. Spring is coming!

Eating: Is it too early to start sampling Easter eggs? Just so you’ll be a discerning buyer in April? What about mämmi? It looks like something scraped straight out of a diaper, but pour some vanilla cream on it et voilà, it’s an Easter delicacy worth a try. Plus rye is good for you! And vanilla cream is good period so what can you lose?

Drinking: maté

Watching: The Fall

Listening: to Bolsonaro’s unconscionable BS re: the Brazilian government’s Covid response.

Reading: Sebastian Fitzek. If you like Thomas Harris, you’ll gobble up Herr Fitzek.

Thinking: On a scale of mellow to oh-my-fucking-god-I-am-so-done-with-this, how stressed out are you, sweetie darlings? I’ve been feeling a bit down lately, worrying over relatives who are feeling even more down after a year of unease and isolation with no end date in sight. Yes, it’s coming, but when? When will we be together again? What will life look like from now on? Will we have to live in fear of catching our deaths for the rest of our lives? Pretty much, yes, just like we’ve had to reconcile ourselves to the risk of influenza, dengue, and everything else out there.

Feeling: my son’s pain. He is nursing a broken heart, his first major breakup. Remember yours? How sure you were the world was ending and how you knew you’d never be happy again? With his limited life experience, with how much of a chain of frustrated hopes and plans the past twelve months have been, I can’t help but worry, so I’ll be watching him closely.