4/14 At the doctor’s in Newburgh, some ear infection. It’s a bungalow, crowded with as many staff as patients. Elderly, frail, though many too sick for their age. The staff, most of them young women, crammed in the area behind the front desk, are more upbeat than unnerved, and a printed sheet on the wall makes it very clear that socializing during working hours is strictly prohibited and grounds for immediate termination. Even if I had been better at not showing a German frown on my face, or that Manhattan impatience while waiting in line, my health insurance would have given me away. The receptionist looks at it as if stumbling on a rare gemstone. No deductible, she gasps. That’s a good insurance.

The infection makes it so I can hear my own heartbeat, a kind of hissing woosh every second, when it’s quiet around me. Although it’s most likely an inner ear thing – that is, after all, where it hurts – they check all my blood vessels, starting with the carotid artery, and also my heart. Gargling, whooshing sounds coming out of the ultrasound machines, one of which they seem to have in every examination room, as if it was an all-purpose device from Star Trek. There’s a hint of plaque on the walls of the artery, and two darker spots in my thyroid which shouldn’t be there, though most likely benign. My heart is beating quite beautifully. 

I should come back in a week to have the thyroid checked out in more detail, and I’m well inclined to do it, rather than consulting a Manhattan specialist.

4/13 We’re in that zone where money can indeed buy some happiness.

Car dealer: pushy and confusing over the phone (What’s the zip code? I need a credit card now!), turning into an epitome of soothing demeanour as we walk into their shop in Connecticut, knowing full well in what delicate state of mind we must be.

I take a video of J driving off the lot, the most expensive 50 yards you can go with a car.

We drive home in spraying rain, me following J and her Jeep in the Venza, and halfway through overtaking her so I can see what the Jeep looks like in the mirror. It looks jeepy.

Tonight I plugged it in for the first time, using a cable drum which we plugged into an outlet in the living room, ran it through a tiny slit of open window and the hedge of the front yard and across the sidewalk. A few minutes later I turn on the space heater in the living room, which knocks out the fuse for the entire floor. We are pioneers. I want to get a level 2 charging port installed as soon as I can.

4/12 Picked up the Jeep. 

4/11 Slept terribly, continuously awake after two until I went swimming at seven. Halfway compensated by some sleep in the afternoon. My new Ouraring observes it and slowly comes to an opinion.

4/10 In the bend of the river you can see the oncoming train in its entire length, a chain of slender silver pencils in the grey evening, only at the front there’s the three bright lights, the essence of a model train.

Cold Spring, watch the gap! The voice of the conductor girl is bouncing with the elasticity of a twenty-year-old.

4/9 Bought the car today. Well, negotiated the price. Hands trembling, I have rarely ever dealt with that much money. I must be like the moron at the car rental counter who has never rented a car before, anxiously trying to defend against threats that make absolutely no sense. I remember one of my first car rentals, when the guy at the counter eventually sighed: We’re a multi-million dollar company, do you honestly think we care about robbing you of a few dollars?

4/8 Went to a different restaurant for dinner, because one of our usual places has closed and moved to the Upper East Side. It was terrible. Nothing but rich, exalted people. Can’t go back there. – And this is honestly what I’m writing? What I’m thinking? What’s literally the worst of the Upper West Side is making its way into me. I’m one of the people around me I’m disgusted with.

4/7 Something has fallen on us, placed itself over us, buried us, it seems somehow wrong to be happy, in a good mood, because things are not good. You don’t have to ask why someone is not doing well, because it’s obvious. Can’t we pretend to be well, pretend our lives from before are there, underneath it all, and we can always give them the upper hand? No, we can’t.

4/6 With J at McNally Jackson. Rather than looking for books, I walked through the aisles and tried to understand the bookstore. Is it the design of the artifacts, their celebrated preciousness, or simply their tactility? Or the curation? Or the way in which the curation is presented? Or all of the above? – This time, I was more turned off by wondering: if such books exist, why are we not surrounded by more learned, incredibly deep people. If I were to turn into a more dedicated reader, how much is that even capable of changing me? I guess it is far less than the objective amount of information in these books would suggest. – Okay I also took pictures of five books, so I can buy them.

4/5 At the rally from Bryant to Madison Square in intermittent, drizzling rain. Feelings of reassurance and community, even enthusiasm, and also trance. Yet – it is quite stunning how even an event of some 100,000 people is completely absorbed by Manhattan. Even only one block away you have no idea it is happening. It is not that as you get closer in the Uber, you’d see more and more people who are doubtlessly on their way there. No, it’s just the usual tourists and shoppers, until you do reach Bryant Square, and even there you have to look twice to make sure that yes, this is indeed the protest. And at the end, when the 100,000 reach Madison Square, they disperse in barely 20 minutes. You’d imagine you’d be stuck there for hours, not being able to get an Uber out, but no, it arrives, after being ordered, in 1 minute.

There are only so many things you do on a march. Have a witty poster, and study the witty posters around you with some curiosity, and occasional giggles. Break into chants for a while: Show me what democracy looks like! – This is what democracy looks like! They will last for a few repetitions, then die off. Drummers at random positions in the crowd will keep some chants alive a little longer. A wave of swelling, loud shouts, along with rattling instruments will sometimes run through the crowd and, once again, die off. Photos are being taken everywhere, and sometimes you realize that you and your sign have been picked by someone, which is a bit of an honor.