“So alive and electric and fearless today, babe…” I just wrote the Nurse.

And I am.  Can’t hold it in place, can’t bottle it. 

Maybe it’s the coffee, maybe it’s simply being here, present, anchored in this shifting routine I’ve carved out inside ’50—what we call this building.

1:36 PM.  So quiet it feels staged, like silence on purpose.  I stand at desk working with it, assessing myself with a rare honesty, the kind that doesn’t just show up, you need to draw it in all its sharp points and delicious detail. 

My presence, my participation in the day—like I’m both student and prof, concurrent.  Taking notes on myself, grading the effort, pushing forward in small increments that feel larger than they look.

This Now is the lecture.  This stillness the exam.  And however it actualized, I feel I’m passing, not with brilliance, but with music for the stage.