So, it seems that I am improving again. Six months ago I came back from Argentina, where I spent the boreal winter. I felt better there, as I usually do during summer, in Italy. Feeling better means being able to think, to read, to do calculations, to draw. To exist, in one word. And also to move around a bit, which is not truly relevant for me, though.

I came back to Italy at the end of March (blog post), sure that I would have had other months of improvement ahead of me, given that we were at the beginning of Spring. But it hasn’t been the case, I got worse: For six months I haven’t thought, and I have been living horizontally, in silence. There were days in which it seemed that I was starting to improve (like when I recorded this video), but then it didn’t last. I can’t remember these six months, in my subjective time they sum up to a week or less.

Not sure why it happened: perhaps the 48 hours of the chaotic journey back to Italy damaged me so badly that it took half a year for me to regain the status quo ante, or maybe the strange flu I got in March, while in Argentina, made the disease worse. In the life of an ordinary person, this would be a rather exceptional episode, for me it is the rule: the improvements are the rare exception. I have lived like that since I was 20.

And now, because I usually get worse at the end of September, I know that I am about to start my descend to Hell again. And this time I can’t move to the austral hemisphere, because of the pandemic. So what am I supposed to do in the few days of life I have left? I’ll do what I have always wanted to do: applied maths and drawing, with only very short term goals. Something that I can finish.

I share these private vicissitudes only because I think that it is important to let the world know about this struggle. It seems unlikely that I can discover the reason why this curse has stricken my life, but I will continue studying this phenomenon: most of what I study, when I can, is about new tools to apply to my own biology.