the week before quarantine began i started reading siddharta. today they lit up the christ the redeemer statue in rio. outside a car starts and drives away. i am in a field but actually i am on my bed. among my sheets. my cat is sleeping at the foot. birds call out in a scatter and then they too drift away. i feel like i will die here for a minute. a fan is always running in this room. i sweat for hours in the night. i should wash the sheets today. it rained all morning. all i hear now is the silence of the house. my legs are twisted. i ate mushrooms this morning. there is nothing left to do but sit here. the droning in my head crescendos. i planned the beginning of this but as it grows it is turning into a labor. i dig my nails into what it all means to me. they were lighting up that statue because of the virus. orange and yellow light came on. i was in my dark green sweater. siddharta stood there all night. there was blue dark and more orange light. i have to drive to the bank soon. i want to emerge from this. i am assembling something greater than the virus. my cat stretches. the temperature hits a peak and off ticks the thermostat. down winds the machine, but air still passes through the vent. that fan is always running. scratch on my neck. everything loops back, all the time, all the same. the vent and the rain stop. the birds pass in and out of trees. i have not moved. i will not die here any more. i should finish reading siddharta before the virus kills everyone.