Swindy out. And I'm in a good mood. Wouldn't reason why except I can't help myself and I conclude it must be the submission to denial. Fine by me. Or maybe it's finally a day of successfully wrangling time, being everywhere when I hoped to be, completing all I said I would. A sense of accomplishment? Relief, maybe.

This is where I find myself on my walk home from the Century Ballroom where I had dinner with Anita. She owns that place, which you know what I mean if you read her journal. Nice to see her again; it's been a long time. I told her I was chatty and I lived up to it I think. Good to laugh. I ate too much, which generated a few chastising thoughts about how just because I'm working out doesn't mean I can eat chocolate chip cookies and crème brulee with reckless abandon.

Walking up Pine to my car on 15th, music from the backpack fuelling a bouncy step. Got the hood up on the jacket, zipped up to my nose; the felt kisses my lips with every inhalation. Despite sweeping it all back behind my head, the hair swarmed out from behind the edges of the hood like arms of mischievous children, blocking my sight and waving hello to the wind. The useless mini umbrella wielded like a sawed-off baseball bat. Dark out; couldn't hear the wind nor the drops but just the music and the laughter in my head. Smiling under the hood. Soaked through every portion bare of Gore-Tex; not minding a bit.