July 16. Microscopic progress on the piano, but it’s great to play that hour or two a day because the progress is indeed undeniable.

July 15. To say that I have a genetic defect seems imprecise to me. After all, it is in every cell of my body. Rather, then, I am a genetic defect. But that begs the question how anyone can be defective everywhere and in principle.

July 14. Duolingo sounds coming from the direction of J. Played piano and violin with her. Dinner in Poughkeepsie, drove back in pouring rain and darkness.

July 13. Two weeks ago I got the confirmation of my genetic defect: In the CCM1 / KRIT1 gene, at position 1905, there is an A instead of a T, and that is the reason for the vascular malformations in my brain. Today I told my son about it. By video, to make it extra ceremonial. He is not particularly concerned – which sounds strikingly like a youthful lack of concern to me. He thinks that soon enough there will be drugs to treat these malformations. He’s also not angry that I might have passed on a bad gene to him. After all, I also passed on some good genes to him.

July 12. Had fun running four and a half miles in the remaining summer heat at ten in the evening. But my fitness is in a slump, and it’s getting harder and harder for me to work my way back up from such a slump.

It doesn’t make me angry when people read paper books. That would suggest I was insecure about my own decision to give all my books away. I’m annoyed by the cultural loss of sinking texts into paper graves instead of keeping them accessible. But I have to wonder how much of a culture person I actually am. I have become a bad reader.

July 11. People cheer and whoop in those roller coaster videos at enormous volume. I guess that is necessary to convince themselves, that is: to persuade themselves that the ride is safe, that it’s fun, because the body gets completely different signals. I myself can’t make high-pitched whooping sounds, in my case it sounds more like I’m boxing or lifting heavy weights.

July 10. And back to New York. Alarm in Gothenburg at six thirty, up at seven, that was tough because my body, despite plenty of sleep spread throughout the day, didn’t expect that time at all.

J and I have to do a post-mortem of these two weeks, it won’t be easy. Days three through five seem in memory as if they couldn’t possibly have happened, but we will have to explain them.

July 9. Brought the kids home. They do not raise their arms as their mother hugs them.

Once again I check in at the lakeside country estate hotel half an hour outside Gothenburg, for nine hours. Sleep. Chess and video with my son. I promise to do more of that moving forward. At eight in the evening, I try to find a restaurant. That is difficult in these small towns where everything closes at nine. There is an Indian place that has dinner ready within five minutes, but none of the other restaurants recommended it to me.

I’d like to try whether I can still read outside at midnight, but I’d have to set an alarm clock for that.

July 8. And tonight Sweden.

July 7. Back in New York. The kids are wiped out. A virus has hit them. I suggested we eat at Playa Betty’s and later go across the street to 16 Handles, but none of that happens. Pizza, and then their eyes become glued to their screens.