Good morning from the central time zone, where I slept much later than usual so am now entirely confused, inner-clock-wise.

Our travels from Portland were smooth and unharried; and though our flight was full, it appeared to be the only one arriving in the Midway terminal. We landed at 7:30, but already the concourse was shut up tight, as if we were stumbling in at 3 a.m. And now here I am in this dark-shaded apartment, dominated by a roaring heater and two sleeping men. I may never figure out what time it is.

Anyway: Chicago! This is our first time in James's new apartment, and it's sweet and homey and high-ceilinged, a third-floor walkup with a view over the rooftops. He and I were laughing on the phone the other day, about what sloppy, sloppy kids we both were, and how we both turned into extremely tidy adults. Childhood is not always a predictor of the future. As a ten-year old, I could have cared less about clutter and hair washing, and he was just the same. But now we're both ridiculous neatniks.

I don't know what we'll do today. Tom and I are here till Tuesday morning, so we've got lots of hours to fill. But now everyone's getting up, and I must leave you and drink coffee. . . .