boots.

Do you ever feel like you're having 'one of those days'?

Nothing goes right.

No one is on your side.

Nothing fits right, looks right, feels right.

You can't remember things.

You're tired and uncomfortable.

You're clumsy, fidgety, and awkward.

Constantly off balance and bumping into things.

Consistently annoyed.

And burnt out.

Well, I have, for about two weeks now. I don't know what it is, but it's a funk that I can't climb out of. Maybe it's stress. Maybe I'm just tired. Whatever it is, this feeling washes over me every year around this time.

I miss the sun.

It's dark by five o'clock. Everything is a dull and dismal grey. The colossal dump of snow we had last week isn't pretty, and light, and beautiful anymore. It gave me a sore back and numb feet.

I want to go camping.

On our honeymoon, between bouts of  soaking in the ocean and soaking in the sun, when we were too tired to drink just one more all inclusive margarita, we would go to our ocean-view room, lay on the over sized bed and watch the only English station on TV. Morning to night, seven days a week, back to back episodes of CSI played in our native tongue.

I know what you're thinking,

"CSI in Cacuun?? You couldn't think of anything better to do??"

Okay, maybe you're not thinking that, but my mom is. I bet you five bucks.

We were in Mexico for ten whole days. At a resort. There's only so much you can do.

For       ten      whole      days.

The swim up bar was awesome the first couple of days. Until flocks and flocks of people started showing up that weekend. And suddenly, it became a cesspool of disease. Thick, green sludge coated the blue tile and formed spinning whirlpools that floated past our unobservant, slightly submerged noses.

After that it was a completely ruined effect for me, swimming up to a bar.

Then there was the bus, which was awesome for the first couple of minutes. Until we realized it was not awesome, and we didn't know where to go. The bus was probably the most dangerous part of our trip. Never mind the repelling into a bottomless cave, zip lining across a gully, and canoeing in alligator infested marshes that we partook in while we were there, no, the bus scared me the most. Lumbering down the too narrow streets and careening round the corners, the bus bounced us up and down fiercely in our seats. We didn't know where to get off, we didn't even know what we wanted to do. We just wanted to get out of the resort and actually see something. We debated our next course of action. This stop? the next one?

The bus driver yelled,

"Aeropuerto! Aeropuerto! Last stop!"

and the bus came to a deliberate halt. We scurried off having no idea where we were or where to go, only knowing that we didn't want to be anywhere near the local airport hosting single jet planes. So we walked, and walked, and walked. Hailed a cab, and said the only thing that we knew would be universally understood,

"Walmart."

We managed to make it back safe and sound, but were really unwilling to do any kind of sightseeing or pool lounging after that. And it is so that we discovered the wonderful American marathon of our all-time favorite show.

It was during one of these 'breaks from vacationing' that we saw it. A music video from a popular Spanish musician, Luis Miguel. It was absolutely hilarious to me. I couldn't stop watching. Which was good, because it played at every single commercial break. Sometimes they didn't even have other commercials, they would just stop the show and play the music video, it was...just...hilarious.

My husband thought the same thing. Whenever it was on we would grab the closest hairbrush or remote and lip synch the unknown words. 'Corny' is an understatement. We hammed it up big time.

He pretended to be the serenading adulterer, matching all the gestures on tv. Pointing his finger, tossing his head back dramatically and clutching his heart. I pretended to be the tempting seductress and would flip my hair in rejection. It was a fun, amusing game we would play, acting out the fate of the star crossed lovers.

We left Mexico feeling like we were leaving a new home. A big, fancy home with every meal prepared for us, fresh towels every day, friends at the bar, slippery newly mopped floors, a delectable backyard equipped with four pools and an entire ocean, and warmth, mmmmm, warmth.


So, you see, with such memories engraved in my mind, I know the feeling of peace and tranquility. I know at some point not too long ago in my life, that I felt complete serenity.

I miss my freckles.

I miss my brown skin.

I miss the ocean and the sun.

And when you miss those things already, but you have a bad day, or week, or weeks, you miss them even more.

Yesterday marked day twelve (not that I'm counting) of my bad, 'in a funk' moodiness. I started feeling like I should just get over myself and shake it off, but then I discovered them. My boots. My brand new boots, only two days old, gnawed beyond wear. Compliments of my darling dog.

I cried. But that's not too surprising...

I just sat on my big red couch and cried. Defeated.

Annoyed.

Pissed off.

But then, quietly at first, I heard it. The familiar piano tune.
Louder, the crooning voice of a Puerto Rican.

I turn, mascara staining my cheeks, and see my husband with a goofy grin plastered on his face.
Luis Miguel playing on iTunes.

He swoops over to me, scoops me up off the couch and whisks me across the room. We waltz, we laugh, we make fun of one another. He holds me in his arms and lets me cry. I let go off all the bad thoughts and feelings, and...I play.

A veil of weight lifts off my shoulders.

And I have a good day.

To witness the greatness of Luis and his jezebel, go here.