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.