We seem to live on TV.  Maybe since the beginning of Covid, but certainly since the war.  Of course we see family and friends, and we manage a concert, a play or two, a museum, a beach, but the real intimacy is with television.  Lately it’s been interviews with hostages that were released, in horror and anticipation of the release of the other hostages.  Their stories disturb my sleep even more than the rockets over tel aviv that have stopped for now.  Even more than the anticipation of Hizballah rockets that are much more powerful and dangerous than the ones we’ve managed to avoid in the last months.  

And to add to all the confinement and discomfort, my covid doesn’t want to leave me.  I am still barely functioning and although I’m handling the reading on words of war on wednesday – somehow – I’m not doing anything with energy.  

No wonder my friends have given up on me.