It’s just my luck. I made it out to Chicago (after getting my plane diverted to Detroit for weather reasons) and there are thunder storms here. When I get to my hotel room and push aside the curtains in an attempt to see my glorious view of Lake Michigan and the Navy Pier, instead, all I see is mass fog. There goes my idyllic ideas of strolling down to Millennium Park in the early evening to get photos of Bart with the Bean and Buckingham Fountain.

Chris is out in San Francisco, where the temperature in Fahrenheit will hit 90 tomorrow, and I’m in a city I love at one of the worst possible times. He’s happy and relaxed, and I am tense and irritated… and alone. He says he feels like he’s gotten that feeling back about why he loves San Francisco; I am sure it’s because he’s a) not staying at my parents’ place, which is full of tension and negative energy, b) the weather is incredible (and abnormal), and c) he’s visiting all the glamorous parts of the city I never take him to when he comes to visit my family. There’s nothing glamorous about the Richmond District. All the above makes a big difference when you are in a city deciding whether you like it or hate it.

I have no one here to see, so I have dinner by myself at a nearby Italian restaurant at their bar, watching other people converse and congregate. It’s funny how weather can affect one’s mood so much. I just want to go home.