But I have lunch, meditate, and write, and as I do that, the light coming in through the window gradually dims. And as it dims, an impalpable fear slowly approaches: I can see myself lying in bed, eyes open, waiting for the fear to reach me. The same feeling overcomes me every day. So, every day, when I do my exercises and meditate and read and write and am gradually surrounded by darkness, I’m eagerly waiting for the end of January to come. Then the days will be longer, the sun will bring with him a promise of warmth, and happiness will last.