Of all things, I suddenly had to crave chocolate mousse.
It was supposed to be just another element of a cozy day off - after a walk and before a TV series - but it turned out… well, differently.
Maybe it was the combination of something exceptionally sweet with something exceptionally fatty, or maybe just plain bad luck, but I won’t be able to look at chocolate mousse again for the rest of my life.
Or at least until the day I forget that Tuesday night.
Summer doesn’t want to leave this year and every evening explodes across the sky in fiery orange. It fades for a few hours only, to lazily spread again in pink at dawn.
I feel an overwhelming will to live.
The less I am on social media, the more I exist in reality: in laughing at nothing, in going out into the night without showing it on stories.
In the evenings, J. and I drift on the sofa like sleeping otters (and you know
how otters sleep...), burying ourselves under blankets and watching old series.
Sometimes my son drops by to discuss traffic regulations and the discrimination
of student cyclists.
Amid all the meetings, projects and activities, my world has magically shrunk.
Distilled to the very essence of being.