Chicago certainly knows how to make you feel welcome. I arrived home this morning at 8am to many inches of freezing slush on the ground and falling wet snowflakes. To get to my new co-apt in Lincoln Park I had to drag my enormous suitcases up the block to a spot that didn't have a moat protecting the sidewalk then back down the block to the entrance. My flats were squirting sheets of water with every step and every few feet or so I would have to stop, put down one bag so I could hoist the other over the snow mound created in front of it by my dragging, put that one down in front of the mound and hoist the other over its snow mound. All it all it took me 10 minutes to get from cab to door.
A woman on the street laughed at me, which was mean, but then when I looked at her pale face peeking out from under her shapeless snowcoat and glanced down at the tawny tops of my feet glowing from between my inappropriately warm-weather shoes and leggings, I realized I should pity, not hate, her.
David did not clear any closet space for me, so instead I unpacked my things all over the bed and desk until we have time to go to The Container Store. I have to say, I feel kind of homeless. And cold, since I don't know how to turn on the heat in this apt.