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Prologue : My phone rings. It’s 2am. It’s Yang. She’s distraught. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” she weeps. It has been seven years, so I’ll take it. But it wasn’t about that. “Kobe has been hit by a car”, she continues. Sobs. “He’s at the pet hospital and seems to be ok”. She could have led with that. It’s Tuesday morning and I had promised Aidan I would take him to Lake Merritt so he could have a run. It is an amazing day and we feel lucky to find parking spot at Lakeshore and Brooklyn. Aidan heads out. Originally I was going to run beside or behind him but feeling my age so I decide on a coffee sipping stroll. I walk 10 minutes out. 10 minutes back. Our rented minivan side window is smashed in. A city gardening crew is working close by and one of the men asks me if that’s my van. He says he saw them and it’s a shame. I’m standing in front of the van, brain scrambled. No idea what to do. We are supposed to drive to Yosemite in an hour. I don’t have insurance to cover this. How do I file a police report? A thought starts to form. We could cover the window in plastic and seal it with duck tape. Second thought. Cardboard. Given where my brain was five minutes prior I feel like I just solved nuclear fission. Aidan is finishing his run. He’s flying. Endorphined out. He walks up to the car, sees the broken window. Confusion. ...

They say that the voice in the back of your head is that of your parents. That the way the speak to you, the way you understood their feelings, and they way they made you feel are always with you. I’m thinking about this because of recent trips to the hair salon and the dentist. I really don’t like getting my hair cut or seeing the dentist. Really don’t like is an understatement. ...

It’s 3pm on a Thursday. I’m at work. I’m bored. The kids are on summer schedule meaning they will stay with me on the weekends. Which I love. Which also means limited adult time. I seldom go out on work nights as one thing leads to another and I’m often too worn to be effective the next day at work. But I am feeling isolated and bored so I ping a friend on WeChat to see if he wants to go to Side Street café. Side Street’s burger just made the final four of the local burger competition. He’s in. ...

I get home with a bag of groceries from the local import market. It’s not that robust. Chicken breast, tomatoes, diet coke, candy, wine. I’m tired. I had biked to the market from work and some days when I do that I hit the low energy thing. I open the door and kobe runs up to me like a middle linebacker. Elisa says hi from the couch. Lydia is sleeping in their room. Aidan is on the other couch maybe working on his homework. I ask Aidan if he ordered food and he said he did. I grab the leftover lasagna from Lydia’s order. I’ve been getting home later because of the new job and that means we don’t eat together except for Friday night pizza parties and weekends. ...

In theory I should look forward to work offsites. It’s not what you think. We stay at great hotels. This being China, we travel to historical and interesting places I likely would not otherwise visit. It’s a chance to see work from another perspective and connect with colleagues and having been on the team since 2005, I know many and are fond of many. The food is amazing. There is plenty of time for sightseeing. There is alcohol during and after dinner. But in fact I can’t stand it. I should not be writing that on a public forum since I guess coworkers can read it but given my average article read rate is less than 10, I’ll take that chance. ...

Sabrina is standing inside of her childhood bedroom, one that she moved out of 20 years ago. Her clothes remain forever stored in crates above the bed as she’s long since discovered H&M. A favorite toy is tied to a door. A drawing she made remains on the wall. It’s a room she shared with her sister. There’s another room for her parents, a main room, a place to cook, and a place to poo. In the main room on one wall is an advertisement from 20 years ago. Some kind of whisky. I ask Sabrina why that’s there, she says because her father likes pretty girls. On the opposite wall is a calendar from 1991. A fairly ornate one as far as calendars go. The apartment was built in 1986 and Sabrina’s family moving into when she was 11 in 1989. It looks like it was built in 1946. Fifth floor, walk-up, which is hard for the mom. It’s in a good location, near the center of town if this town has a center. ...

I’m heading to the airport in an hour and packing my suitcase. Our dog, Kobe, starts pacing. Up to me, whining. Trying to get my attention. When I head out the door he’s getting frantic. Door shut, I hear him howling. Anxiety. That’s it. I show it when I try to bring a spoonful of soup to my mouth and then put the spoon back afraid I won’t make it. I show it when I need to grab the coffee cup from the coffee machine with two hands. I show it when I avoid offsites or hang out in my hotel room when I do go. I show it when I can’t sleep on business trips. I show it when I grab that second or third glass of wine. I show it when I find negative things to comment on. ...

I got married. We got married. This is not an experience I had expected to have. Again. I married for the usual reasons, love, life partner. The accelerant was a promise I made to Sabrina three years ago. That if I returned to the US, I would not leave her behind. I’m not returning to the US but recently this was a real possibility. It was time to make good on this promise. Besides, we have a dog together. ...

I wake up. Rather I get up for sleep did not come. I get up because I am bored waiting for sleep. And I have to pee. I check my phone. And pee. These are not necessarily distinct events. It is 6:30am. Crap. I thought it was later. When Starbucks would be open. I sit on the coach and look eastward out my 12 floor window. The view is unbroken for 500 meters or so. There is a 10 story building. On the rooftop I see a man squatting. But it can’t be a man for I saw the same man yesterday at 6:30am. ...

It is Wednesday morning and I’m not sure if I’m jet lagged or getting sick. No, I’m not hungover. Not this time. My mind isn’t as sharp as it normally is. Not that it’s normally a samurai sword or even a ginza. I bolster it with coffee and make it through the day. Back in my hotel room that night I have more work calls to a city that is entering mid morning. I’m now pretty sure it’s not jet lag. I’m more comfortable with the folks on the phone and I let my annoyance show. ...