XLIV. It's just vacation, but I may not come back

I prepare for vacations the way Pharaohs prepared for death – on a grand scale and with my organs in mason jars.

I must have my entire life squared away. I put the will on the desk, leave passwords in secret envelopes, and put the love doll in a Dumpster (to be retrieved later).

The house must be cleaned, and projects I have been working on for months must be completed. I don't know why. It's not like I would have completed the projects had I stayed home. But there I am, the last minute before I have to leave for the airport, frantically organizing my first-grade baseball card collection.

Truly, it is like I am preparing for death rather than a fun vacation. I even leave instructions for an estate sale and "talking points" for my obit.

There are many different kinds of vacations, from the chaotic slapdash family car trip to the backpacking Himalayan soul excursion.

I always go far away and alone. Because of this I get nervous when the departure date approaches, because I suspect my soul-searching is going to find a person I don't particularly like.

In reassessing my life, I come up with the same to-do list. "Be kinder to humans, get started on career, quit work, tan ..." The vague anxiety I experience stems from the fact that I leave so much stuff undone.

Every year I predict that I will not return from summer vacation, but this time I might actually be correct. I am heading into that hot spot of beautiful people and everyone’s favorite make believe world – Los Angeles.

So by the time you read this, I will either be dead, or I will be injecting my ass with collagen so that it looks “perky.”

Vacations are fun like that.