August 6. The question of what I am doing here, in New York, in America, gnaws often now. The children are no longer here; what was once a family is less than a ruin. I like the country, I like the people here, even if I haven’t made any friends in ten years and don’t plan to make any. The woman I love is here, but would rather be somewhere else. Compared to my life here, my life in Germany was richly endowed with activities, with friends. And yet, for the life of me, I don’t want to go back to Germany or Europe. I would suffocate.