Today the bombardment of Talkalakh continues. The images of refugees in Lebanon kept me up all night. The testimonies I hear from people who were at the heart of the action make me even more nervous. I can barely keep my cool or focus on a single thing. It’s going to be hard for me to carry on like this. I have been trying to relax for the last two days, but I can’t. The only solution is sleeping pills, but they turn me into a zombie who sleeps and wakes up, then wanders around the house like a vagrant only to go back to bed. It is now 5:30 p.m. Stepping out onto the balcony, I look into the street to see whether the two agents are still outside my house. Maybe I am just imagining things. I don’t see anyone. I haven’t been out for two days. Today is day number three. I amuse the agents who are watching me, who oversee my surveillance. I am special. Thinking it’s tragicomic for me to be besieged like this, I try to focus on what has happened over the past two days.
