Change of pace ... or no pace at all.

For the three or so weeks I've been here, my routine has been basically this:

Meeting at 9 a.m. with half dozen or so Iraqi journalists who work for McClatchy. Read their blog.

They read aloud the top headlines from six to 10 newspapers. We talk about what they've been seeing in their neighborhoods, and then divvy up the day's assignments. Somebody tracking violence around the country. Somebody watching what parliament's up to, and so on.

Then I'm either trying to work sources by phone or making the short but laborious journey into the Green Zone for press conferences and interviews.

Often it's not until 6 p.m. we recognize what the story of the day will be. Luckily, Iraqis work late. It's possible to call people well into the evening. Our deadline is roughly 11 p.m. local time and talking things over with Washington editors can stretch until 2 a.m.

Sounds like more work than it is. And it's not as if there's much else to do.

I had set my first military embed of this trip set for Monday. That got bumped up to Sunday night.

I'd steeled myself for the hurry-up-and-wait routine. The waiting area by the parking lot where helicopters come and go was the usual Star Wars bar scene -- weary soldiers sleeping against their ruck sacks, private security guys wearing huge watches wrapped around Popeye forearms, contractors talking about fishing, cigarettes and iPods glowing in the night.

All of this was lit by the orange light of a Gatorade vending machine. I passed some time talking to an Aussie working for a North Carolina firm. It's his job to travel the country talking with provincial councils and studying their records to see how organzied they are.

Alas our flights got scrubbed by a dust storm and, since it isn't safe to go back to my hotel at night, I went to some bunks set aside for stranded journalists. I spent part of the night talking with the author of this blog, a free-lancer in the country doing troop-centric radio stories with the help of grants from conservative organizations.

In the morning, I was told there'd be no flights available to me for two days. Even though I was headed just to the outskirts of Baghdad, I was out of luck.

On Friday, the weather and the U.S. Army willing, I'll head to Kirkuk. I think I'll bring a book.