Hotel living is a double-edged sword. In a way, it's wonderful and provides a monthly respite from the non-stop action of my life. There are no little boys or dogs trailing so closely after me that I trip over them if I'm not careful. Once you become a family man (or woman) you give up any claim to privacy, to time alone, to being a "solitary" individual -- if you're worth anything as a parent, that is.
So that's the good part -- the quiet that is so rare, so hard to come by in my present life. It's the piece I have to remind myself to enjoy and embrace, especially when that other edge of the sword starts tickling my neck.
I'm referring to the loneliness that creeps so readily in when I'm staying in a hotel room. It probably doesn't help that I stay in rooms that are essentially identical to one another, adding a surreal dimension to the experience. I remember when David Keith's character in An Officer and a Gentleman killed himself. In a hotel room.
Okay, Dan, chill out. Get some sleep. You'll be home tomorrow.
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