“Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.” ― Graham Greene, Ways Of Escape Day one of a two week vacation (slightly more, since I am not back at work until January 4th). UCLA is making me use six vacation days (or take six days without pay, which I am not going to do), which seems funny. Every other educational situation I've been in just pays over the winter break. UCLA is all bound up in tons of labor policies, and I'm in a union, and HR holds vast sway over the management side. I don't think they understand the academic calendar very well, which is odd, since they work at a university. Facebook memories remind me that on this date, three years ago, another one of those painfully ordinary but diamond-rare experiences with L happened, a quick trip to Krispy Kreme Donuts with her two kids, and to a park. Also in FB mems, a ton of pics from four years ago, extensive field work in Baja for my PhD research, just prior to the debacle with A. A cool combination, to remember both getting out of a toxic reality, falling in love with a different one, and how weird 2016 to 2018 really was. Forthwith, a series of pics from that 2016 December field work. I dearly miss these Baja trips. If there were no pandemic, I would be on my way there today. Soon. My soul says, life's short. Go to Baja. Instead, I'm on my way to San Diego. Staying in a place that has some L memories, even though she and I were never there, oddly enough. It will be interesting to see how this visit feels.