Each year I’m less embarrassed to say it: I don’t like that stretch of time during the Dutch Springtime when no work week is normal. Aside from the usual Christian holidays there’s King’s Day and Liberation Day, and I’ve found it really messes with my head. I don’t mind them much looking ahead (like I did last week, but having to live through it could well be too much for me.

Brushing my teeth on Friday morning, I think about the weekend ahead, secretly complaining that my social engagements will keep me from getting the rest I need. Then I remember Easter Monday. The true marker of my mid-thirties is the excitement I feel at the prospect of a bed, and nothing but it.

It has been snowing in Amsterdam. As the years go by, I’m having trouble understanding whether I’m experiencing the effects of global warming, or whether I’ve never paid attention to what was always in front of me until now. It is likely a combination of the two. Either way, it is sad to see Amsterdammers retreat into their homes after two weeks of shorts and drinks in the sun.

The tourists are back in town. Lots of Germans with face masks. I suppose we’re all beginning to venture out into the world again, just a bit closer to home. Anja and I are considering taking the ferry to Norway. Apparently you can camp virtually anywhere in that country, as long as you “leave it cleaner than you found it” and make sure you’re gone after two days. At this point, we’re vastly underestimating how attached we are to luxury. I can still hear myself whining “Bonsoihoir”. This was the catch-all name we used anyone who would come to the door of our Parisian hotel room with a bucket of ice, “no, not for champagne, just for the drinks”. I also really don’t like ticks, and I simply can’t imagine that Norway somehow doesn’t have the national health crisis taunting its neighbor.

“Do you want this problem to get smaller or bigger?”

I never get much reading done unless I’m sleeping elsewhere. Most often, I associate sleeping elsewhere with having time off, and having time off means I’m away from a computer screen. This frees up time for reading.

I am nostalgic about the way the Web used to be. I miss the handcrafted blogs that I used to visit, and the intimate windows they gave me into the lives of strangers.