I should be eating lunch, but instead I'm writing this.

The weather here likens the aura of the capital--stuffy, gray, and shackled from glimpsing the sun, which stands not too far above the somber overcast. In my grandmother's house, there is a neverending cycle of life. They rise at dawn, move about the house like busy ghosts, cleaning, washing, and directing the girl here that works from them. A few hours the sky turns from black to light gray (ie. mid morning), my cousin, nicknamed Yuan Yuan wakes up with cranky babbling of, "Nononononono! Don't want!" Along with him rises the rest of the household. His live-in nurse, a chubby, kind-hearted young woman waddles after him like a concerned shadow. My uncle will also wake up and sit on the couch with his computer, working on god knows what. They move about the day, chasing after the baby, cooking for my mom and I, shuffling from room to room in their slippers, all the while turning the air conditioning on and off. They're scared they'll catch a cold, but also impatient with the stuffy heat.

It's starting to rain outside. The moisture in the air is rising to an unbearable level--to a place where I think I'm breathing in liquid. I want to go to the art exhibition with paintings by Renoir (my favorite artist) touring in Beijing, but I'm too lazy to get off the couch. I was supposed to go tour the Imperial Palace this morning. But it rained.