I love hotels. I wish that I could just live in a hotel. I love the fact that someone else has to clean up after me, I love the clean towels, I love the beds and especially the pillows, and I dream of having such comfort at home in my own bed. I love the almost-always-ugly-and-eye-gouging carpet in the hallways and the fact that I never know what channel is what on the TV, and how it feels like a little adventure sitting down in front of the tube figuring out which station has CSI on it. I especially love hotels with swimming pools.
But, I guess what I love most about staying in a hotel, is that I am invisible. I can just wander about, checking out each floor, reading in the corner, or sitting outside people watching, and nobody cares. It's the ultimate in relaxation for me. No ringing phones, no commitments, no small talk, unless I decide to chit chat with other readers and smokers who are also hiding from the world inside the hotel.
Because of this, I also get a chance to think, really think, and in all that quiet time, alone with myself, I come up with solutions, and ideas, and I always feel so much more creative. The urge to write is fierce, and day-dreaming can be an all day affair. There isn't anything else to do.
So thanks, Smyrish, for taking me away for a couple days. It was exactly what I needed, and I feel so much better because of it.