April 4, 2020 Covid
Max writes and informs me that though he appreciates the effort, he’s not entirely convinced by my diary (he scoffs at the term ‘journal’): “Absolutely everyone is having boring days,” he tells me. “That’s not what what we want to read about. Tell us more about what’s going through your head. Diaries become interesting when you can read about the thoughts of the person writing it.”
I promptly stop writing this thing for a few days, telling myself it isn’t because I now question myself, but simply because writing every day is hard. What are the thoughts dominating my mind? What patterns do I see that warrant a journal entry? Showing up each day with some freshly formed ideas required consistency, and if this crisis is robbing me of anything, it’s that.
It’s the first properly warm day and we go out, past Max and Eva’s house. The cherry blossoms on their street are in full bloom and we shout at each other through the open window until they come down, keeping their distance. On the way home, I enter a wine shop, open for some reason, and get schooled by the saleswomen about my utter lack of knowledge about Pinot Noir.
What has been going through my head is the question which of our newfound behaviors will stick. The joke goes that the crisis will finally move Berlin merchants to accept card payments, but it’s more than that: Is there going to be a great resurgence in social life once the restrictions are lifted? Are we going to stop buying all out stuff online? Or do we realize that not being talked down by wine shop owners is preferable to going out?
We watch some Curb Your Enthusiasm before going to bed and I’m reminded of Larry David’s catchphrase that “Nothing good ever happens when you leave the house”. I’m sure his character didn’t shake any hands before the crisis even hit.