Dedicated to my grandfather, because he encouraged me to keep writing
It’s a good thing I’m not a travel agent.
I like thinking about all the different possibilities. How about a side trip to Mexico? Or a stay at Laguna Beach?
I hate making decisions. Especially when they’re non-refundable.
Of course, if I was a travel agent, my clients would be making the non-refundable decisions.
Then I’d be annoyed when they couldn’t choose between two, like, totally similar hotels, right next to each other.
“I think we’ll stay at the hotel with the toddler wading pool. No. Wait. NOW we want to stay at the hotel with Starbucks and Pizza Hut in the lobby.”
With all the bad economic news, I’m having Grapes of Wrath anxiety attacks.
I'm afraid we'll arrive in Orange County, and migrant workers from Oklahoma will be living there in shanty-towns, with all their belongings strapped to their cars.
And then we’ll go to Dallas and it will be a Dust Bowl.
I didn’t say it makes sense.
I feel guilty for planning a trip to Disneyland.
I’m not going to stay at a luxury lodge. And I didn’t make $30 million last year.
And yes, I know there is medication for this sort of thing.
It's called duty-free bourbon.
Unmagical thinking - I know people talk about the transformative power of grief, and I know that there’s supposed to be some alchemy whereby you internalize the person you lost...