April 3. To Plattsburgh for the funeral of J’s grandfather. At one point on the interstate, next to “Exit” it says “Sortie”; it is the only French word anywhere. We drive to JCPenney. An almost empty parking lot in front of the usual department store bungalows. The wind blows sand in our faces. The cashier asks if we want a bag. She forgets the answer right after, and then explains that she asks these questions a thousand times a day, and can’t remember the answers. She explains this twice.

April 2, Newburgh. Weeded out moss between the paving stones on the patio. Played random notes on the two plastic octaves.

April 1. It is definitely bizarre that I, of all people, who never worried about upsetting anyone with my thoughts, no longer dare to say what I think and have developed quite a substantial writer’s block from it.

March 31. The orthopedist shows me the x-ray of my hip joint and how the joint ball is a little off from the spherical shape: femoroacetabular impingement. Has probably been that way since I was born, and when you put a lot of stress on your joints and your body can’t repair itself as quickly anymore, the shock absorbers get inflamed at that point. I feel like I have to care far less about the decrease in my cardiovascular power than this unstoppable, increasing sensitivity of my body.

March 30. Don’t write anything you’ve written before. Don’t write for anyone but yourself. Write exactly where you don’t know your way around anymore.

March 29. Those who are still wearing a mask must be so offended.

March 28. Threw out a third of the blog post. If only I could start over every day.

J says there are many musicians in New York who would love to teach me something for a fee.

March 27. Back in Manhattan. We sleep until noon and then go to brunch at Dagon. Mimosa and Bloody Mary. Afterwards we practice on our respective instruments with more Mimosas. It is important to be able to play even under adverse conditions.

March 26. Greater Newburgh Symphonic Orchestra. The program had already been made in December and consisted of two Russian composers: Shostakovich and Tchaikovsky. In recent weeks, consideration had been given to changing the program, yet if anything was perfectly appropriate, it was Shostakovich’s Ninth. The conductor, with a great sense of showmanship, also began the concert with the Ukrainian National Anthem, and asked the audience to rise for it.

Discussed with J how precise emotions are in music. It is certainly naive to assume that every person would understand this language equally, that it would have an incorruptible meaning. But is there no truth to that at all?

March 25. The little website I built for a company-internal purpose is remarkably shaky. And I’m the one always telling people how to write better programs.

To Newburgh in the evening.