Back across the country, funneled through the previously discussed asymptote of Concourse F at O’Hare, de-icing wings, stumbling across the tarmac, the green/orange left behind for blue/brown, total stabbing icicles—

I discovered that California continues to exist even though I no longer live there. Remember that episode of Growing Pains where Christer Curlyhair was baffled to learn that TV shows kept playing even when he wasn’t watching them?

I won miniature golf and the All My Children board game, though the latter only because another player decided to throw the game rather than be forced to continue playing it for even one more single second. I played Dottie, a former ugly duckling on the verge of blossoming into womanhood. RELATED: I watched a Canadian movie about necrophilia. I gave an example of a sentence that would require an en dash.

People I was convinced I saw at the airport yesterday: Philip Seymour Hoffman, Maine-based author Richard Russo, and Scarlett Johansson. I was so wrong.

“Is this from a game?” Alexis just walked in here and said that in response to what I was listening to (“Door Fridge Microwave Water” by ALP, a recommendation from SDH). “It sounds like you’re in a cave, about to get your ass kicked.”

She rearranged the furniture while I was out of town and now everything looks better. Maybe sometime move your bed against a different wall and see how long it takes for your dreams to adjust.