Hello, good morning from inside my bed. It's 6.56 a.m. on Monday, April. It's the first Monday of April.

And you're listening to Audio Dispatch 3 from quarantine.

We are formally starting the fourth week of quarantine in New York.

My kids are in the room right next door singing a song to each other.

I don't usually go in there until about 7.30 to change their diapers for as formless

or shapeless as time seems to be right now. It is also the first thing that's on my mind

when I wake up in the morning, not in the context of what do I have to do today and where's the time

going, but more like how deep into this are we?

How much deeper will we get?

And so on and so forth.

Around the middle point of week number one,

I instituted a rule that I could not engage

in more than one scroll through the news.

Because as A.B. put it, which I think was really helpful

for me, given the privilege of the circumstance which I am in, which is ability to see silver

lining of quarantine and self-examine during quarantine. But I asked him a question based on something I'd read,

and he looked at me and said, everything you're reading is already a step behind what you've

experienced. I'm not participating in more news than a single scroll. Because after a certain

point, the news starts spiraling around my head. I'm not even absorbing it anymore. I don't

even actually know what I'm reading. My mind is just like, you know, catching these staggering

statistics and the death toll and the unemployment rate. And I don't even see what it says around

those words. I just know that it seems bad and in the wake of catastrophe,

...