[...] I felt like I was suspended in mid-air, without my things, without my books, with almost nothing of my own, and I’ve always been very dependent on my habitat. My bedroom was tiny, and the bed inside it was tiny; I had to learn to sleep with my head resting on one arm, because there weren’t enough pillows and I got gastric reflux. Eventually I realised I was going to end up staying there much longer than planned, and my friends and I agreed that I’d pay a bit of rent and they’d give me a room where I could put my computer. Until then I’d been using their computer, but I didn’t have access to my programs or files – my memory, in other words. It took a long time to get the room ready. There were also maids in the house, sometimes one and sometimes two, which meant I had almost nowhere to go during the day other than into the computer; first my friends’, and then mine once it was set up. That’s when I first became addicted to playing card games, and I began staying awake until the early hours, far later than any normal person would. As if I only felt at home during the night. Though I still wasn’t at home. Sometimes I was left by myself and had to look after the house. If my friends were going away for a few days and I was in the house alone, on those days I wouldn’t go to sleep until eight in the morning. I couldn’t; I was on the alert all night, keeping watch. These altered sleeping hours of mine made apartment-hunting more and more difficult; my ex-wife helped, and sometimes Chl helped as well. All the ones I managed to go and see were terrible; some thoroughly miserable apartments. It looked like I’d have to consider paying more rent; to do that I’d have to start working intensively, and I knew I’d be able to, but it would take time, some months of being settled in my new place, before I could start. Then the summer came around, and for me every summer is like death. I realised I wouldn’t be able to rent anywhere until the autumn, and I would have been too weak to deal with moving anyway. In summer, my thoughts become muddled and I spend the whole time trying to escape my body. It’s because of the heat, but it’s more than that as well; there’s something really deadly about the summer, something that makes me feel hopeless and depressed, that wrings out my nerves, constantly, one by one.

Twice a week, on average, I took a taxi and went to see Chl. Back then, we still used to make love. Sometimes she’d come and see me at my friends’ house and we’d go for a walk. Even in summer, her presence was a tonic; she gave me strength, life, energy. Thinking about her was all that got me through that terrible period.