I feel like my body is functioning better than ever. I attribute that to yoga. I’m also thinner. My lungs/sinus/throat, however, are not happy. The air pollution in this valley is beyond unhealthy. I wonder if it will reach a point where we would be evacuated. I would welcome a leave until this passes. Once my work here is through, I’m moving someplace clear. I have to make a conscious effort not to get sick, which is working, but time consuming and exhausting. I really don’t want to get on another round of anti-biotics. I would like to have a child at some point in my life.
I bought a laptop from the Russian. The selling point was that it’s red. I imagined that it would revolutionize my writing, but I need to face the fact that only I can make me write. Also, as this is my first laptop, I’m finding that it’s battery life is short, which also shoots my writing dreams to shit since my writing dreams involved me at a café overlooking the water on the French Riviera writing passionately—autobiographically—about the previous night’s lover. Someone named Auriela (or whatever was it) and eating pears.

Morbid obesity: one of America’s greatest art forms.

Marie Antoinette was pretty.

I’m quarantined at home with strep throat today. I’m missing work, something the doctor seemed very serious about. I’m also drudging through The Master and Margarita, which everyone said I’d love, and it’s fine but making me realized that the last time I got sucked into a book was awhile ago, and it scared me so I put it down and haven’t finished. French is daunting. I knew it would be, but now that I have the text, I keep thinking I should have stuck with Spanish. This is my second round of antibiotics this winter. I think I’m being re-infected by someone who doesn’t even want to be kissing me anyways.