For the last week before America's Labour Day, the unofficial end of summer, Old Orchard seems somewhat sedate. There are only nine others at the Inn, and they seem somewhat subdued. I'm not sure why; the weather is nice this week, but some of the locals tell me that because Labour Day is relatively late this year, many schools have started already. That is a shame, I guess. But I can't rightfully criticize people for not enjoying their vacation when I'm not having much fun on mine.
Not that this can truly be called a vacation; enjoying myself on the beach is somewhat of a seconday concern. Recent events have simply made it difficult to stay at home, though, and while I probably shouldn't send the exact details to an anonymous email address, I can say that I was happy to get out of the city, the province, and the country on somebody else's dime. I just didn't anticipate the malaise I would feel once here.
The malaise is not tied to the place, though. I have lost my job and been divorced this year, so I have spent too much time at loose ends, which led to the gambling, and thus to everything else. Which leads to the problem, I guess - vacation is not much fun when you were not doing anything already. One just worries about whether you're spending too much of your savings on dining out, and thinks of what opportunities for new work and perhaps even new love one is missing back home. Having nearly forty years, it is not a good time for me to fall behind.
And yet, I have said I would stay here until summoned, filling time with things like sending this message to the email address on the flier. Hopefully it is more trustworthy than the website, which appears to be mistyped, as that address leads to a work of fantasy rather than a guestbook.
Ah, well. Perhaps the quiet will result in one of the ladies at the bar giving a middle-aged "Frenchie" a chance.
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