12:44 a.m. Well, the stock market rebounded, held steady ... or regained its composure. Whatever it was supposed to do, it did. Even keel. This reminds me eerily of what happened back in January, when the world didn't fall apart at the crucial ding of the turn-of-the-century odometer.

I'm beginning to feel as if there is a benign presence looking out for us all. A Watcher. One of Them. Those masterminds behind the government wires and dials who run things and make sure the right amount of people are beginning to smoke, going on a diet, speeding five miles over the legal limit. Dying and copulating and getting sick on schedule.

Somebody with a Vested Interest must be looking out for us and keeping the economy out of the toilet. There can be no other explanation for the fact that even though it was predicted (fomented) by the all-knowing Drudge, there still, still! was no meltdown of the natural order.

There's been no rioting in the streets. No run on the banks and no stockpiling of small batteries and Slim Jims and loaves of olive herb-nut bread. Life goes on as per.

And how was your day? It rained and rained here, including that ever-irritating vertical rain. Practically hit me where I was sitting at the computer, through the ill-sealed doors. But at least I'm all settled in, nice and cozy. Not like poor, poor Michael of bunt sign. He's packing, and he's hurting, and he describes it very, very well. I try not to feel smug because I know it could happen to me again.

My daughter just moved this weekend and my son helped pack the truck. I know what that's all about. I know the aches and the strange things it does to your mind ... the whole world becomes a puzzle, a never ending dun-colored Tetris without the Volga tunes. Boxes! Boxes on top of boxes! More boxes in the corner!

And all you want in the whole wide world is a nice, hot bath. Is your bed still in pieces? Your pillow still in the car? Is the coffee maker in one bag and that little measuring spoon in another state? Where are all the past-due bills that just came in the mail? Is it possible for the kitchen floor to get any dirtier?

And yet, here we are. It always works out. There are those among us who know how to pack, and some of us know how to unpack. Some of us can lift and some of us can drive the truck. Others order the take-out and fill out all the insurance applications. Still others make us laugh when the first box off the truck -- the most important stuff -- hits the pavement with a tinkling thud.

The pets run around like wild animals, sniffing the new winds. The electricity works, somehow. Sometimes a neighbor shows up with something warm and sweet, wrapped with a clean ribbon. The cable will be connected before you know it and once you restock your refrigerator with brand new versions of all the condiments you just threw out at the old place ... well ...

... you're home. Not free, but home. And all this time the Watcher's been watching, and he approves. Moving is always good -- it's good to think our stuff is so unique that we must pack it carefully and lug it to the next place, even though the people who just left have packed and lugged exactly the same stuff to their next place.

Don't forget to line your baseball cap with foil before you take out your new garbage for the first time. Helps to confuse the geosynchronistic scopes. And if you don't think they're watching your every move, how else do you explain those free! (free!) address labels that show up on your doorstep, with your name all neat as you please, the second you settle in?

Not to worry. Everything's under control. Futons are forever.