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2001-07-13 - 1:27 p.m.

12 July 2001

Dear Rob and John,

It's not hot here. Not hot at all. When I stand in the sunlight, I'm not even warm. It's like I've stumbled into some weird alternate universe, specifically designed to taunt me for living in Austin.

I got up early this morning and went running, through downtown Palo Alto and the Stanford campus. I tried to sleep late, really I did, but we took a nap yesterday evening, and my body already thinks it's two hours later than it is. I bought bagels on the way back, and we ate them outside, sitting in front of Michael's apartment.

It's strange to be in my brother's apartment without him, surrounded by his books and his black furniture, framed pictures on every wall, some of which are also on my walls at home. I try to picture his life here, in this small apartment, everything so neat and orderly, and I wonder when it is that my brother turned into my father. And then I remembered that every vacation I took with my father, he got up early in the morning to go running, and came back sweaty, carrying a bag of bagels.

So we're here. We made it. No major catastrophes. Gary is much easier to be around out of context, and we're getting along quite well.

As soon as we arrived, I was amazed at how easy it is to do this, to pay lots of money, and end up somewhere completely different than where you were. I should do this more often.

More later.


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