Sunday, Feb. 23

Day 30. The word "quarantine" comes from the Venetian form of the Italian quaranta giorni, meaning "forty days." People made sailors dock for 40 days to prove they weren't carrying a disease. I've got ten more days before a real quarantine. 

 I close my eyes and inhale the beautiful, endless lavender fields of Provence as hungry, happy bees buzz around my feet. We spent her birthday sailing around a volcano off the coast of Santorini and then marched those merciless ancient Roman cobblestones that broke Xiaolin's suitcase and tore her shoulder. I saw a woman fall down in traffic, her nose exploding in a spray of blood as the unforgiving sun and endless windy roads pushed her past her limits.

Europe is still in our rearview mirror, but it was a lifetime ago. I don't want to imagine a decade locked up like this, but it's exciting to experience the largest cocooning in human history. One in every five humans on earth is hiding from COVID-19. Isn't that something. 

I play some hockey with my dad and help Xiaolin with her shoulder treatment. I eat some oatmeal, boiled eggs, and bread with hummus. We teach a class, and it's ok. The next class is the problem. The last class of our weekend tends to stress us out in normal circumstances. Today I'm ready to cancel it. There's massive audio lag. Usually, I'm asking students to take their earbuds out, and now I'm hassling them to wear them. These students are older and a bit slower to pick up the concepts. I let Xiaolin take the lead and mentally shut down. Xiaolin is convinced I've been cursing under my breath. Unless she can read minds, she's mistaken, but good luck telling her that. 

This special time has shown me my passion is writing. My most valuable resource, time, drips away when I'm not engaged. I'm grateful to COVID-19 for this lesson (and if this lesson was the point, please go away now). Is it gone? Is it? 

Xiaolin stomps around the kitchen, banging pans. Arguing in a 

global pandemic is high stakes. You can't just take a walk, so patience prevails. 

In a wild fantasy, I google an escape to Thailand, en route to Canada, one of the only direct flights out of Chongqing still running, but South Korea has put out a travel warning for Bangkok. Thailand might put one out for South Korea tomorrow. They're expensive, anyway. Jeffy Spaghetti. 

Book title idea: How to Save Money in the Apocalypse: Retirement Planning for the Frugal Survivor. 

I revisit my writing community on Scribophile and make a new group for locals called Cyber Chongqing & the Hot Po(e)t Society. I hope we can publish more this year. I'm sure lawyers will be the last people alive, so no worries about getting a book deal. 

My buddy falls over and messes up his knee. He wants to go to the hospital, but he's scared. He asks me for advice, and I recommend ice, heat, and prayer. 

I'm chasing the dying of the light, push a little harder to learn a little more.  

I refry refried beans in onions and garlic with a fried egg in a toasty burrito with hummus, salsa, and cheese and hot sauce. I'll remember this burrito forever. 

Today it is cold! I'm excited for warmer weather on the horizon. I laugh until my gut hurts in a long call with my friend Andrea about the absurdity of life. And yeah, I've got a tough wife, you know who else did? Shakespeare. Lovecraft. 

I wish I had some beer.