My month in California is almost over. It was sunny and hot and a little gloomy and drizzly and finally windy and fiery. So basically it was pretty much how things always go.

I don't particularly want to go back to Chicaaago (the pronunciation of which is how the natives here welcome me), especially because the interview season will start almost as soon as I get back. On the other hand, it'll be good to sleep in my own bed again. A million potential reasons for missing Chicago, and the only compelling one that I can think of is that upon which I can lay my tired head. Not quite as stirring as last time, but that seems appropriate somehow.

I heard about a woman whose house was destroyed in New Orleans by Katrina. She moved to Texas and promptly had her new house destroyed by Rita. Now she lives in San Diego and watches the fire draw closer each day. If I was her, I think I would be tempted to throw some gasoline on the roof and light the match myself, just to try to assert some sense of control. And then, of course, stand defeated as the rain puts out the still-distant wildfire and the remaining embers of my home and hearth.

Why do I mention this? Because right now it's partly sunny and fairly warm, but you know how that goes. And I've been trying to prepare - not by stocking up on cans of gas, but by remembering that my time in California is short indeed.