This time depression hit me harder than usual.

Strange events keep happening to me, or maybe I’ve just learned to notice only them. Joys have turned into rare fragments, and I have to gather them the way a homeless man collects spare change at a bus stop.

I’m trying to recall what good things happened this week:

Wednesday, September 10:

I dyed my hair. Went to the gym, stood on my head. The rest—I don’t remember.

Thursday, September 11:

I spent the whole day filming videos for my friend and his workshop. I consider this a positive thing, since it means I’ll be able to earn some money. I also went to the doctor; he said the mouth guard on my jaw are working well and so far, he’s pleased with the results.

Friday, September 12: Blank.

When days don’t differ from one another, memory erases them like unnecessary files.

Saturday, September 13: Bought a book.

Sunday, September 14: Went to an abandoned psychiatric hospital for Jews, founded in 1908. During World War II, the Germans executed all the Jews there. A tragic place, but one that makes you think a lot.

Monday, September 15:

I worked out, worked a lot, and I can count that as something positive because I was truly proud of myself. I also start to read a new book.

Tuesday, September 16:

I ate McDonald’s French fries and a chocolate ice cream.

Drove around evening Warsaw with music playing. Read again.

Wednesday, September 17:

Worked out, took a bath with pink foam, and read a book. Petted а cat.

That’s it.

I didn’t see any deer that time, by the way. Apparently, they know where not to show up.