Two

Days since quarantine: 14

First lunch: omelet sandwich. I learned a trick a while ago to mix a little cornstarch slurry in with the beaten egg mixture, making it less likely to tear. This was meant for making the very thin egg crepes used in various Chinese and Vietnamese dishes, but I learned that it works particularly well for omelet sandwiches – the eggs are fluffly and and they don't break apart, ideal for wedging between two slices of toasted bread. 

Second lunch: peanut butter on toast with sliced banana, honey and some Maldon. On our last grocery trip, D. asked me if we had any peanut butter left and I told him we had run out, prompting him to get a jar of Adams despite my lobbying for something junkier like Skippy. Then I saw that we still have a third of a jar of Justin's honey peanut butter at home and felt momentary guilt which quickly turned into relief that I don't have to share the good stuff. Ah, the intricacies of love. 

Dinner: poke bowls from Uber Eats. I had started on something else but it went sideways (don't ask); raw fish on kale salad was a worthy substitution. 

Mood: so-so. Talked to some classmates today, good to see how people were coping with this whole virus business. Told Molly and Bailey that Ned gave me a B+ in his class, resulting in some outcry of injustice, which makes me feel absolutely vindicated. It may not a be a big deal in the larger context (barely made a dent in my GPA) but IT'S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING! I mean, I had an hour-long meltdown in front of D. over this crap a couple of days ago, though it might have something to do with my emotionally frazzled state these days, too. All in all, another uneventful day, though I'm low-key mourning my much anticipated trip to Marfa, which would have started today. Makes me feel some kind of way that while we're all in a tizzy, latching onto our tenuous grips of any kind of control and normalcy, Judd's blocks are still solemnly standing in their field, feeling the sunlight draping on their concrete skin and watching the rotation of planets under the big open Texas sky. Art is powerful when it connects us to bigger things, when it transcends the scale of our existence into that which we can never fully grasp. I'm thinking about Keats' "Bright Star" – a poem I love and have memorized since first reading it:

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—

          Not in line splendor hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal kids apart,

          Like nature's patient, restless Eremite

The moving waters at their priestlike task

          Of pure ablution round earth's human shores

Or gazing on the new, soft fallen mask

          Of snow upon the mountains and the Moors [....]