Maybe it was Halloween but there was a heavy haze around The Love and I this weekend.
It was a lovely weekend; we had three days off because the theatre troupe went to Zurich to perform, so we had a mini-break to visit Berlin, sleep in, eat, wander, enjoy. But The Love had to work on a composition for a film and I needed to work on the book so we laid low, working from the Wu-Dojo in the days, drinking coffee from our little Italian friend, eating tacos at the joint on Danzinger with Miss Pac Man. Then at nights we'd come back and watch Breaking Bad, which would pain and thrill us.
Maybe it was that: the Breaking Bad.
We can't get over the writing on this show. It kills us. It's so truthful, so believable. I'm sure if I got diagnosed with lung cancer I'd do something crazy. I'm sure if I was a chemistry teacher I'd start cooking crystal meth to bring in cash to support my family when I was gone. I would. Everything he does, you understand.
But it's just so sad. Underneath, this lonely, aching sadness, this awful, rotten disease. It's almost unbearable. Poor Walt White.
Anyway, so the Breaking Bad brings Bad Dreams and the Bad Dreams leads to Waking Bad and then we're all in a funk for the day.
We did go to Kollwitzplatz market on Saturday, and ate one Berliner Bratwurst and one Currywurst and had two big cups of freshly squeezed juice. That was good. And we watched people buying huge pumpkins to carve out and admired little hand-knitted hats and went into the park to eat the sausages and watch the cute little well-behaved little Berlin kiddies play on the swings. We sat next to the big statue of Kathe Kollwitz. Now she knows melancholy.
I remember studying her at school - every time in Berlin I see the word brot I think of her.
So we sat with Kathe and ate our sausages and then I bought some lavender soap and we walked home.