Do you dream about apartments that often? Sure, that means something, but as I'm a simple minded person, I always take dreams 1:1 and after a successful dream about an apartment, I just think: Wow, that was another nice apartment. If I find an object in a dream that I like, I visit it again and again. At the moment it's an elongated apartment with an old glass roof, heavy wooden planks, libraries, Manufactum furniture (or something like that) and a stream next to the door. With a creek seat, so to speak. In real life, I always live somehow and am amazed when I visit adults. That strange feeling that develops when you stand in front of a particularly well-designed house in a particularly refined street. Ivy, conservatories, the whole nine yards. Then you enter a perfect apartment and the feeling becomes big and powerful, and I always confuse it with simple envy in the first few minutes. Overwhelmed, I stand on teak floors, large double doors open onto terraces overlooking the lake, when it gets warm there will probably be fluffy four-poster beds - surely a second storey in the apartment, how can you live without a second storey, Italian couches, damask bed linen, hatches into which you throw dirty laundry, which then glides like a lynx into a laundry room, 230 square meters, that's what you need for two, we don't want to get on each other's nerves, say the inhabitants of the perfect apartment, and all right, I think. Then you're sitting there, at a table, fire country cherry, 50 kg, a meal is served, various courses, the hosts are also brilliant cooks and talk about balsamic vinegar. What I initially thought was envy has now become paralysis. The apartment, the lifestyle, everything seems to want to humiliate me. At almost 120 years old, I still live in a permanent provisional arrangement. I've never had a perfect apartment, only the one that was available at the time and then I had to look for another one. Like right now.

Food is eaten in bed or on the floor, and I will never understand guests in the apartment. Why expose people to the shame of too much intimacy when there are restaurants. It's possible that I have something of a washing compulsion related to guests and my apartment, I'm uncomfortable standing in other people's dens. Too intimate, too much information, I don't want to see what other people smear on their faces, toothbrushes with food residue, toilets where it's clear how your spouse excretes, the smell of garlic from the sink, and knowing that the ball of dust under the bed is made of skin flakes - am I crazy, or is it really nobody else's business what people do in their caves? And then you have to sit there, and stuff is proudly served up, cooked by yourself, and then I have to say - I don't eat meat, and I don't eat alcohol in sauces, and I don't eat sauces, and no, just eat little lambs, that's ok, I'll have some of these Brussels sprouts, which I hate, and cry because of the lamb - I hate that. Anyone who is too cheap to go to a restaurant and take me out should just leave it all alone. Well, that's what the people I know do. After a hundred rejections and no return invitations, my reputation as an oddball is established at some point. The older I get, the more furnished my friends become. With dining tables, stripped parquet floors, reupholstered Bauhaus loungers and homes of their own. That's the issue now: What, you don't want to buy anything? It's the best investment and mortgages are so cheap at the moment. Leaving aside the fact that I don't know what a mortgage is, questions like this make me feel almost as insecure as those about a dining table. Do I have to buy something now? How am I supposed to pay for it, is just one question. Then I look at villas on Lake Como for a few billion with a guilty conscience, but I don't think that's what it's meant to be. The people I know are buying three-room apartments in places like Forch, Trödiswil and Oberau. The term "loft development" comes up a lot. So the acquaintances move an hour outside the city into a concrete aquarium box, set up perfect furniture and sit there forever, waiting for visitors for dinner (dining table). The horror usually ends when they pass away, and then the grandchildren are left standing in the concrete box, which by then has become completely unfashionable, and have to dispose of old Interio sofas.