The first snow today. Just a bit of a dusting, like coarse salt.

I biked to the school where I work wearing naught but a few layers, and as usual the Chicago weather decided to spite me for my optimism. After spending the last half hour of my shift in the computer lab — where both air conditioners are still running, inexplicably — I was surprised to see my breath once I got outside.

There might be something wrong with laser-cut keys. Or with me. I almost abandoned my bike after five minutes of fumbling with the lock.

Since half of my coat is still at home, I've been especially nervous about the coming winter. I don't have many sweaters or sweatshirts really, mainly because that coat is warm enough that I could wear practically anything underneath it for my short excursions outside at college.

I'm not completely unprepared. I have the ridiculous fuzzy jacket that comprised the inner lining of my misplaced coat, and a series of progressively more ludicrous jackets should it get even colder before Thanksgiving.

Frankly, the whole situation is a bit embarrassing. As a northern Minnesotan it galls me that I'm giving in to this weather (bundling up, thinking about riding the bus) when it's a point of pride that I've suffered through far worse, presumably if not always actually with a certain amount of stoicism.

When I'm an old man, I suppose I'll tell stories about the weather.