So I dimmed the lights and slid the curtains aside to watch the white snow against the dark grey sky as it fluttered in the wind. Big flakes heavy and determined, small flakes light and chaotic. Christmas tree lights and candles reflecting in the window, my oil burner spreading the fresh 'happiness' scent. I made myself a cup of tea; a proper cup of tea this time. Strong, with milk. I made orange tea and sweetened it with sugar.

I sat on the stool and tightened my bow; I hadn't felt it in my hand for ages. I tuned my violin to my metronome A even though I could have done without, lay my bow on a string and gently pulled. It was pure magic. My fingers reunited with my violin's fingerboard, they tapped up and down the scale of c minor to complement the snow and I closed my eyes and imagined the sound playing with the wind.

I pretended to improvise a little bit, then played arpeggios and thirds. I love c minor.

And then I melted my heart by playing the first few phrases of Fanck's Sonata in A. I cannot play the fingering because I haven't practised, so I stopped and left the melody floating in my head. The wind now howls and rushes the snow against the window, slowly building a wall of white, moist, frothy dust on the window ledge. It is dark and cosy, I am alone and peaceful, on my own and independent.

---

Today was a productive day. I had almost forgotten how much one can fit into those mere 14 hours of awakeness [when one is well enough]. I drove to Amsterdam and attended two appointments in the hospital. I cycled out into the snow and went shopping in three places. I cooked a full meal and ate it. I played some simple Duvernoy on the piano and I played violin.

I count at least five main things for one day. Granted I used to do a million, but lately, usually one main activity is already too much.

I loved myself and enjoyed my time alone. Bart is gone for five days and I am happy.

---

I feel so