I would come home and I would see the red light flashing on my answering machine, and instead of being thrilled to hear from my friends, I would think, "What a lot of people that is to have to call back." Or I would decide I should have lunch, and then I would think, but I'd have to get the food out and put it on a plate and cut it up and chew it and swallow it, and it felt to me like the Stations of the Cross.
Volvía a casa, veía la luz roja del contestador titilar y en vez de alegrarme de que mis amigos me llamaran, pensaba: « Cuánta gente a la que tengo que llamar ». O, si decidía almorzar, después pensaba que tenía que sacar la comida, ponerla en un plato, cortarla, masticarla, tragarla, y sentía que era como un vía crucis.