Reflections in mid-January

It's true I was still lazy about my historical experiment this Saturday, and besides have given up exploring the 18th century on Sundays until the 1900-present experiment is over. For the 18th century, more equipment is needed, like properly period-appropriate lanterns, dishes, ...

But I ate cornflakes for breakfast as well as the traditional croissant and coffee. (Which was admittedly less effort than last weekend, where I emulated the fashionable 1990s 'continental breakfast' with boiled eggs and a glass of fresh orange juice accompanying the croissants and coffee.)

The rest of the day was taken up by errands. First, buying more donations for a Ukraine-centric charity as well as one for refugees in general. The drugstore was packed and it took longer than expected. So I absorbed details of fellow shoppers and the aisles, the Veganuary display with tinned jackfruit and other specialties, and leftover Christmas and New Year's stock. Cosmetics gift kits of course can't be stored for November 2023 without expiring.

On the way home, I went by the neighbourhood news kiosk/lottery ticket shop/parcel delivery station, which also had a longer queue than most days. The New York Times international edition hadn't sold out, and there were cookies and chocolate bars to add to the donations bag.

At Tempelhofer Airport, the donations place had not yet opened. But a stream of people, mostly younger than I, was walking along the sunken driveway to more distant hangars. A metal bin was sitting outside the door to receive donations; the fenced enclosure in the parking lot above the driveway had disappeared.

Optimistically, I'd hoped to buy new patches for the family's bicycle tires, as Ge. had kindly sacrificed his last one when helping me restore my front tire, which had been deflated by a glass shard. But the bicycle shop is only open Mondays to Fridays.

The next stop would have been a Greek supermarket, near the spot where Albert Einstein's apartment building used to stand. But either the supermarket moved away or I just didn't see it. It still feels like a creepy neighbourhood with its pompous/funereal imperial era architecture, interspersed with one or two buildings with 1920s/1930sesque grey tuff façades, and the signs with texts about all the Nazi laws that had made life hell for the Jewish community who used to live there. So though I think it's been reclaimed by democratic, diverse modernity, I was glad to cycle off again.

It began raining lightly, I was feeling a bit tired and weepy after another intense work week, and so I decided to go straight home instead of dropping by the dry cleaner's.

***

Altogether I haven't really felt the same since I got Covid. Perhaps more of the blame, however, can be laid at the door of the work layoffs and ongoing departures (another colleague sent around a goodbye email this week). I am applying a few anti-depression techniques like reducing sugar intake and doing more medium-intensity exercise; and hoping that singing in the choir will help.

In the meantime it's harder to wake up in the mornings; I forget to water the plants, which was not a problem before the layoffs; it takes self-discipline to open YouTube to do exercise videos; hobbies are languishing; I've gained weight; and I feel bad about myself. Once or twice I've reflected that the happiest parts of my life are over.

Gradually I've also realized an underlying problem. Since my tough time at school, I've generally been a lonely person, not tending much contact to friends or family because I was convinced that they'd start disliking me once they found out I was defective.

Finally, though, finding self-confidence and friendships at work in my early thirties had made me eager to keep and rekindle relationships.

But the relatives I'd been keeping at a distance have been dying off one by one, before Covid settled down enough and my travel anxiety receded enough so that I could visit them. The friends are being ejected from the company, and the ones who remain are often so unhappy that it hurts me to see it. I'm probably also feeling 'layoff survivor's guilt,' which makes it hard for me to write to departed colleagues without feeling like I'm a face of the company that laid them off.

At the same time I still have plenty of lovely people in my life, not all of whom are feeling miserable ...  and I feel that I am not disadvantaged. It is just that I am not as happy as I would like.