It saddens me to see this vacation come to a close. I’ll be back at work this Monday, and I dread that day when it comes. Until then, I guess I’ll just sit here and enjoy the two days I have left. Isn’t that what everyone thinks when they’ve been away from their jobs? It must depend on how much someone enjoys doing what they’re doing.

I drove back to Palm Springs on Thursday, and I must admit I miss the beach, even though I was never at the beach. I’m not a beach person, although I can lie on my back in the sand on any sunny day. What kind of person am I? I’m not a forest person, nor a desert person. Maybe I’m a lake person. I could sit at the lake and stare at the blue water for hours if it’s, in fact, blue water. Sometimes it’s brown water, which doesn’t much appeal to me. But who does it appeal to?

I checked out of my room in Goleta on Thursday and sat in the coffee shop for several hours before I hit the laundromat to wash my pants and socks. While they were in the washer, I went back to the coffee shop and waited.

When I came back, I saw my wet clothes on the counter and a woman standing near them. She didn’t speak English, but she gestured towards my clothes and asked if they were mine. She’d removed my clothes from the washer. It pissed me off. What kind of rude person does that?

I said, “Thanks,” and I don’t know why I said “Thanks.” She didn’t deserve it. She deserved her clothes to be thrown out of the laundromat.

I grabbed my clothes and hastily threw them in the dryer. I lost one of my socks in the process, always losing socks. What is it about socks where I always lose them? They just get away from me. I constantly need to buy new ones. That lady had put me in a bad mood.

While the clothes were in the dryer, I went back to my room and packed my belongings. I checked out with the concierge, and he asked if I enjoyed my stay. I couldn’t say that I did. It was a funky shower with a detachable showerhead that hung against the wall. The only way for me to wash myself was to hold the showerhead while I applied the soap. And I find it to be a challenge to wash my hair with one hand. So I had to attach the showerhead back onto the thing that holds it so I could rub the shampoo on my head.

But I didn’t complain to the concierge. I didn’t have time.

“Do you need gas?” he asked.

“Not immediately,” I said.

“Well, if you do, there’s a Valero across the street. We have cheaper prices than Santa Barbara. I highly recommend you use that one.”

I wanted to repeat to him that I didn’t need gas. Did he not get the message? I handed him my keycards. They’d charged me fifteen dollars just to park in their precious parking lot. I at least could park right in front of my room. It was a small room with about a seventy-inch flatscreen TV on a wooden drawer. The only way to find the mini fridge was to open the drawer, and it was inside there. I’d stashed my iced espresso and a couple of cookies in it.

And then, I hit the road from Goleta back to Palm Springs. It was a four-hour drive. The traffic slowed down in many parts during the trip, mostly on the 60 freeway heading towards Indio. I didn’t know what the holdup was or if there was anything to hold up for, but there was nowhere to be. I could afford to waste a whole day on the road.

I got home after 6 p.m., unpacked, and decided to take a walk. The street fair on Palm Canyon Road had already begun. They do it every Thursday in Palm Springs. I walked past the vendors, having never bought a thing from them, but I would like to try the food someday.

And now it’s Saturday. I’ll do much of the same thing. It’s routine for me at this point. I write and edit for several hours in the morning, go for a two-hour walk, maybe swim, come back, write and edit some more before I come home, take a shower, make dinner, and go to sleep. I can’t sit still, can’t watch TV. It depresses me too much.

Last night, I watched a movie that was eerily similar to the book I’m putting out next year. It wasn’t exactly like my book. I’d conceived the idea during COVID, four years ago, before this movie was probably even thought about. I won’t get into the movie and what it was, but I will say how strange the collective unconscious is if this has anything to do with it. It’s like our brains are connected, or every idea has been taken. I can write anything, and rest assured, somebody has already done it.