09-02-03 - 9:07 p.m.
after living my summer in blurred increments of sold out weekends, i drove into an empty parking lot this morning and realized it was over. the three day holiday and final chance for big revenue ended on a low note, thanks to a great white shark and the high price of gas. on friday night, my hotel just over 50% occupied, i suddenly empathized with murray hamilton, the anxious amity island mayor in jaws. i actually wanted to stalk the beach and shoo people into the water. it's this sick sense of responsibility that has lately overshadowed my life; i've lost touch with the small satisfactions, the rewards, the ability to savor fleeting moments of happiness. once upon a time, when i was younger, i could ignore this feeling, shrug it off as a passing mood of youth. age seems to sharpen your outlook; keenly aware of time, i've suddenly become a clockwatcher, a planner, a watchdog of my future. i want a foundation. a relationship. i want a nest egg. and mom, no offense, but i want to leave behind a legacy for people who love me, something more than a used sewing machine and the instruction book that came with it.