Iceland has become darker and darker. We have spent a lot of time in bed, staring at each other and at the everlasting night. I have been writing music again, something I have been unable to do for the last few years. We often find ourselves confined to this little comfortable apartment with no money to go out and explore with. We are unable to resist the temptations of shop windows and restaurant menus. I can't support my lifestyle with editing Arabic textbooks anymore, I realised.
After frantically rushing up and down Laugevagur, Reykjavik, asking for work, pulling out my empty pockets to reveal only a few pennies and a bubblegum wrapper, I was directed to a reputable Sushi restaurant in an old building on the corner of the main road and Skolavorthastigur. After repeating the lines from what now felt like a script, 'inquiring' now not sounding like a word but a spelling bee question, I was beckoned under the counter into prime sushi-maker position where I found myself rolling for customers too polite to object. The result wasn't too bad, I must say, for I landed a job as a chef at this beautiful place, labyrinthine in its backstage and clean and tasteful in its front. The bar downstairs has murals painted by one of the chefs I work with; she has painted hands in motion upwards and downwards. It is good to see hands holding themselves here, in black and white.
Joanna finds herself in incredible pain as she jostles with Iceland's cruel temperament. Her eyes are so aggravated and red that she struggles to keep them open. She says she feels like they're being pulled out of her head. We have to keep the apartment lit by candles or she says she feels a shock. The air pressure here is hard to adjust to because of the northerly latitude, according to a biology student friend of ours. If anyone knows anything about this, please comment because we are very worried, and unsure how to get the right treatment here in Iceland.