September 3, 2021:

Very kindly, my elderly Lyft driver brings me all the way home, up mountains and around obstacles, where I can't be much use aside from directions. It's a longer drive than he expected, he wants to end his day, but he never complains, and we talk of his home country, realizing that in our different ways we're each exiles.

My home is tree-dark, very hot, unhealthy, lacking ventilation, not particularly hygienic given that my lack of affection for it translates into lack of attention. Exacerbated latterly by blood loss. So that on my arrival it's essentially a giant petri dish of biohazard which I'm unlikely to clean up in my debilitated state.

I'll be downstairs for the time being. At this time stairs seem a bad idea.

Me and Cheetah and a hundred partially-read books. Enforced vacation, alone on the mountaintop.