7/21/14. And I’m in the adjunct cell. Wrote my words for the day, 3 full fictive pages, and I’m ready for class, for the most part. Have to print some papers for Mendocino, so they can have all my materials by Wednesday (I’ll probably drive up, early). Did my fingerprints and TB fax-over earlier today, along with getting a couple new pairs of bootcut jeans and some black shoes, only to be worn to class. My old black ones were just that– old. And beaten. And bitter. I’m very easily over 2,000 words for the day. And I have this bizarre rare species of ease about me. Don’t know what it is. And it’s even more peculiar as I’m sipping a mocha, one of my 3-shots. I may be too relaxed to write, even. I also blame this jazz, this particular song, “The Folks Who Live on the Hill” by Brad Mehldau. Walking away from this sitting, going to class, hoping to wake tomorrow, early. Didn’t go for a run today. I have no excuse to submit to you, reader. But tomorrow’s A.M., before that bloody winery, I’ll be scurrying about Bennett’s Valley.