I stretch, lean over to my husband, bite him, he mumbles something indecipherable but sweet in tone, I kiss him, he smiles sleepily, I bop out of bed in time with Marvin, and the dog-spazzing begins. Sandy wags frantically, "Are we gonna walk, huh? Huh? Are we, are we?!" She's under my feet, tail beating on my shins. I attempt to grab my socks out of the drawer and almost trip over the mutt. Grrr.

I storm to the front door, which is really the back door, and order the dog outside. She thinks we're leaving and dashes out enthusiastically. Ha ha, dumb dog, I think, as I shut the door, turn around, go back to the bedroom and search for my sweats.

As I’m digging though the stack of folded laundry, Bobby opens his eyes and gestures for me to come back to bed. I’m tempted, really tempted, but I need to walk and so does the dog.

I finish dressing, turn off the radio, and begin a new search, this time for the leash. Sandy is whining at the door now, and I'm getting a little frazzled.

6:35a.m. I find the leash and leave the house, collaring the dog on the way. As we pass by the garden, I check for slug damage but see surprisingly little. The romaine looks healthy, the strawberries are producing, even the spinach has finally filled out. This makes me happy and I say nice things to the dog.

We head out of our little lane and onto the street. A block later, Sandy and I enter the woods. I unhook her collar and off she goes, dashing into what are most likely tick-filled bushes. Sigh. Oh well.

As I walk I try to focus on my surroundings. Thoreau said something to the effect that people who don't pay attention to what they are walking through shouldn't be walking. The forest by my neighborhood has been logged several times over, so it's full of invasive growth, young redwoods, and huge stumps. The Himalayan blackberries reach inch-thick, spiky vines out over the trail. I duck underneath them. The fog is rolling up from the trees and I can glimpse a bit of blue sky. Wonder if it will clear up early today.

Sandy plunges so far ahead I can't see her. I call her but she only comes halfway back to me. This dog needs to be trained so badly. I add half an hour of daily dog-training to my mental to-do list. Then I remember I'm supposed to be focusing, so I look around some more.

Despite my attempts at living in the moment, my undisciplined mind drifts again. By the time I reach the turn-around point and circle back, I have wandered into next week, planning meals and paying bills in my head. (Later, I will think I’ve actually paid the bills and become confused when late notices arrive in the mail.)

Sandy and I return home. Her doggy-happiness level drops when she realizes that she is being put in the backyard to stay for the day but, what can I say? I need her out of the house for a while. It’s a big yard. She has water and a dog-shack. I refuse to feel guilty.

I go inside. Pull the frozen bananas, soy protein powder, oj, and vanilla soy milk out of the fridge and make a smoothie. This process is complicated by the fact that my blender base, the round part that attaches the blade to the pitcher, broke a while back and is now held together, like many things I own, by duct tape and super glue. But amid the smoking and burnt plastic smell, my smoothie somehow comes out. Yum.

Protein-fortified, I grab the weights. I’m still working on the T2 Linda Hamilton bod. (I’m striving for the mind of a pacifist and the build of a warrior.) I work out.

7:40a.m. I remind Bobby that he has to take Chelsea to the Natural History Museum,"Get up!", and then head upstairs to Chelsea's room. Climbing carefully over the books, Beanie Babies, and clothes that litter the floor, I reach her bed, which is really my old futon frame sans futon. I swear she likes it that way. I wake up Chelsea. "Hey sweetie, time to wake up for tidepooling class." She mumbles that she'll get up soon: "Really, mom." Uh-huh.

I go back downstairs. The bread I programmed the bread machine to start at 4:00a.m. is almost ready. It smells good. I debate what to drink: should I have chai, coffee, or that woman’s dong quai tea? I opt for coffee and grind my organic beans and steam my soy milk. Double cappucino. Yum again.

7:55a.m. Teresa arrives. I kiss Bobby, Chelsea, and Nick goodbye (Kaylee is still sleeping), and Teresa, Jason, and I load up in her car and head off for school. Halfway there, past the cow pastures but before the defunct nuclear plant, the sun comes out. I realize at this point that I forgot my shades. Damn, damn, damn. I don’t want to complain about sunshine (we average forty inches of rain here per year), but I can’t deal with the sun in my eyes. Wah.

8:30a.m. Lit class with Shelley, my favorite teacher and sometimes evil twin. We're turning in our first paper today. I forgot to do in-text citations; oops. We have to give ourselves a grade on the back of our paper before turning it in. I optimistically opt for an A-. Switching from creative writing (which I took last semseter) to structured essays this semester is challenging. We turn in our papers and attack our story for today: "Harrison Bergeron" by Kurt Vonnegut. I like this story a lot; it's classic good Vonnegut. I finish quickly and read ahead: "Sonny's Blues" by James Baldwin. I love this story. No, I am in love with this story. I begin to highlight all the lines I most love and soon the pages are more bright yellow than white.

10:45 a.m. Break time. I head out to the smoker's balcony with Recil, who smokes, and Teresa, who doesn't. I don't smoke either, but I like the company. Teresa is from the South and Recil lived there a while, so I crack up while they tell stories about that region of the U.S. I also debate ditching psych class; Teresa tries to entice me into going to a movie. I'm tempted, especially because we're doing small group stuff in psych and I don't like it. Wah. But I'm "good" so I go to psych class and discuss the various stages of adulthood: young (20-40), the "trial run" period of adult life; middle (40-60), the time of crises and transitions; and late (60+), the reconciliation phase. I’m wondering when the "you did everything right" stage is.

(excerpt from Daybook1)