"I went to a place. I'll be back at a time. Signed, People."
That's almost a word for word (to the best of my meager memory) quote of a note Frank left me some time last year. At that time it was a joke. Now it's the truth.
He went to a place. Lake Tahoe. "I threw a snowball when I got here." He went snowboarding. "I fell." "I did a face plant."
He'll be back at a time. First it was "Tues/Wed." Then it was "Wed/Thurs." So I called him tonight (Wed.). "I'm in San Francisco. I'm at an Expendables concert. I have a place to stay."
OK, bearing in mind that I went to L.A. a lot in the late 70s without telling my mother about it, I guess I'm lucky to have these small tidbits of information. Although I know what I did [stalk Barbra Streisand's house, visit her sister's bakery, see James Caan at a mini-mart], which wasn't so bad at all.
I'm glad he's having a good time. I've been able to go hours, almost days, without fretting. That's a good thing.
But next week is my spring break. (The HH has to work.)
And I think I want to break loose. Break out. Break free. (Monday I have dental work. My sympathies to the Matron.) After that, my idea of breaking out is to get a massage.
Do you have any other suggestions for my spring break [out]?
Because I'm not really good at this break thing. Even the work break is looking freaky to me right now.