1. I didn't really sleep last night. Tossing and turning since 4:30 AM. 

2. I like to be down here alone in the dark. Back to three lunches and three snacks today. Bacon and toast and fruit. One cappuccino. I think I can handle just this little bit of caffeine.

3. I am trying to listen to myself and cringing at every "like" and "um." Critiquing my silence and the tone of my voice. Why did I talk about a fur coat? I mean, it drove home a point, but still. A fur coat? And I remember why I never go back to listen to my interviews. 

4. I like this little spot and I sit in the sun while I wait for her because I need to feel the heat on my skin. Wooden gliders. 

5. We walk down to the river and find a bench that looks out onto the water. Ducks, cranes, ripples from someone skipping rocks a little ways away. 

6. We talk about the beauty of the morning; children and their friends; how to stay out of the entrepreneurial slump and addressing fears; ways in which we can build a network of black women way out here in the suburbs; how to take care of ourselves when people that look like your neighbors carry tiki torches and try to start race wars.

7. Grenache for lunch.

8. I sit out on the back porch and listen to the ping of golf balls. I need to harvest all of these herbs and hang them to dry. 

9. We make dinner together tonight. I do the risotto and he does the salmon. I like it when we dance in this space together. 

10. I finally sign them up for something. Basketball for the boys and gymnastics for the girl. I jokingly say that now I feel like a good mother. But I'm not really joking. It's interesting the way we cut our own selves over these kinds of things.