Tired, weighted down, this evening I had a cup and a half of Keemun, but gravity got to me before the tea. I suppose it’s good to break habits, to sleep in the day and stay up all night, to overeat and deprive oneself of pleasure, but one can’t demand the good of it at the time. I have the window open to satisfy myself that it’s not raining as I’d imagined, and I listen to the insects shrilly keeping time.
12 February 1983, San Diego