Rage

There’s no other word for it.

But the coffee was better and more substantial today, probably because I used hotter water. I read Camus’s The Stranger, and was angry, though it engaged me more than John Updike’s Run Rabbit, which I started last night, and didn’t particularly feel like continuing.

I did yoga, and was angry. I meditated and was angry.

But I can see Bi Long Temple nestled in the green hills across the freeway from my father’s desk, and the cool island breeze is familiar now when I open the window.

Day 1 of Quarantine

Started the day at 5:30 a.m. with French Press coffee. Brought my own coffee grounds and French Press because I can’t leave to get coffee at 7-11 or Family Mart. I know my own dependency so came prepared. Haven’t made French Press coffee since Ana showed me in 2009, when I visited her in Greensboro. It really is a bit smoother, but also lighter.

Paperwork and so much bureaucracy before I can see my dad. Nothing to do about it. So I billed almost 8 hours and did squats and pushups and yoga (too impatient to finish the whole video), played guitar (wasn’t feeling it, after 2 songs).

I always love looking at old picture albums.

Read so much on the airplane, my eyes almost fell out. Therese Raquin in its entirety, finished most of Mating in Captivity, and got through the first half of Interpreter of Maladies. Will pick up one of Dad’s John Updike novels tonight.