On Monday, I twisted my ankle while walking across the office to the microwave. You’d think I have a gigantic office but it’s actually rather small. It was the enthusiastic, not to say desperate, nature of the walk to the microwave that caused the accident.

For the next two days, I used the excuse of the sore ankle to plant myself on my bed after coming home from work and reading for hours.

The ankle healed fast but the memory of the blissful time reading and doing absolutely nothing else whatsoever remained. Now I have a sore knee that justifies my continued bed rest. The pain is very sharp so the rest is very justified.

I’m afraid I’ll turn myself into an invalid because I can’t do what I want to do without an excuse.

Klara was remembering her sixth birthday party today, and it suddenly struck me that it was less than a year ago. To me, it feels like a different era. Before the war, before my father died.

Everything changed since then. Every day when I come home, N and I exchange updates on what we read, watched and listened about the war. I have watched more YouTube videos since the war began than in all of my previous life. I have seen more images of dead bodies and severed body parts than I could ever imagine seeing.

I also discovered so many new ideas, people, and schools of thought that I feel like a completely different person. My worldview changed a lot. I look back at who I was during Klara’s 6th birthday party, and I don’t recognize that person. It’s a different world and a different me.

He hadn’t thought then what it must mean—to have an adult’s subtlety, command of language and sensual capacity without an adult’s humanity.

Ruth Rendell, The Face of Trespass