I don't know what it was about going into the ocean. (Puerco Beach, in Malibu, has become my favorite place to go as of late.) Intimations of allegories regarding baptism flitted through my head, but they were quickly dashed by the crashing waves. My heart pounded, and in the end I cast myself onto the sand (well OK, my beach towel) and slept.

I haven't felt that relaxed in months. I think I have forgotten how to smile. I mean, I can smile, but there's usually (as Tyler Durden from "Fight Club" would put it) a sick desperation in it. I felt legitimately, sincerely happy for once, with nothing hanging over my head.

Afterwards, I drove back to my parents' house, avoiding the freeways. From PCH, I drove down Sunset Blvd. through the 'Sades, then up Sepulveda, to catch Mulholland Blvd. That road is fun. Then I descended back into the basin on Laurel Canyon and hung out at the Virgin Megastore for a while. Again, I took Sunset through Hollywood, turned left on Vermont and buzzed by Los Feliz. I could write about L.A. and go on one of my tirades about how it's so unfair that people don't consider it a real city, and that people badmouth it all the time, but all I'll say is that this city is ridiculously huge. If you added up the driving time, it basically took me an hour to journey from the western extremity of the city to the eastern extremity. And the traffic really wasn't even bad!