The House of Sand and Lifting Fog

I ran away from home.

Well, my home.

My parents are out of town and have graciously allowed me the use of their home. The plan was to come here, do some writing, run on the beach, and figure out what the heck I’m doing with my life.

This is what happened instead:

I got here Friday night, ate every last bit of chocolate that was in the house, and watched old movies until I came down from my sugar high and passed out in my parents ginormous bed. Then, on Saturday, I stood on the balcony using my cell phone to take pictures of the sunrise, did my nails, took a bath in the big garden tub, played with the cat, and talked with friends on the phone.

No writing. No epiphanies – other than that I have no discipline when it comes to writing or exercise or Hershey’s Chocolate Kisses, and I don’t like being alone.

So, Sunday morning has rolled around, and I’m heading back home today a couple of pounds heavier - Vacation calories don't count, dammit! - and absolutely no closer to getting the next Great American novel finished. Or started, for that matter. My nails look good, though.




Had to share this photo. It reminds me of my favorite painting by Caspar David Friedrich... Monk by the Sea.