A little back story before my rant about how effing stupid it is that the ports of Mexico are closed.

The Mc doesn’t fly…ever. Most of you already know about his aversion, and that we just don’t talk about it because there’s not much point and your $.02 about what he should try in order to “get over it” isn’t going to do anything but make you feel better.

With that, our vacations are always driving distance from Atlanta. If there’s a plane involved you can bet I’m going it alone or with a friend – case in point – in September I’ll be traveling to Ireland with my buddy John.

The arrangement of separate and/or solo vacations isn’t exactly perfect, but it’s something I’ve come to know and accept (and actually enjoy)…most of the time.

For over two and a half decades I’ve wandered through life with few constants but this: my yellow tablet and my happy little goal list (which some might call a life to-do list or a bucket list) with items scribbled and scratched and checked off and waiting for their day in the sun. One of the more senior items on the list is this: swimming with turtles. Big, slow, gentle, graceful turtles in the wild. Watching them truck and float and glide and dance while I marvel in their beauty and hope that being in their presence can last and last and last.

Since 1+1 = negative pi, I figured this swim would be something I’d do on my own. Long before The Mc fell into my heart (and since), I looked into volunteer vacations in South America where they want $5k for the honor. I tried to volunteer with east coast turtle rescue and rehab centers who are elitist butt munches who want locals only. I’d put it aside for a rainy day, until The Mc suggested we go on a cruise so we could wind up somewhere with turtles and I could have my wish.

That was probably a year ago, and next weekend we leave on said cruise out of Port Canaveral. The other port visits en route to my green friends aren’t horrible, but in reality they’re just a means to an end: I get to swim with turtles.

Or not.

We were locked and loaded right up until some pig fu*ker in Mexcio went all retro on us and brought the N1H1 back to keep disco and bell bottoms company.

So I’m pissy and I’m switching gears and we’re totally going to make the most of it, and I don’t for one second envy The Mc for having to deal with the likes of me and my IwanttofightitbutIcan’tpoutyness in the wake of the non-start for the graduation of my dream.

I guess it’s back to summer school.

PS I’m fully aware my life doesn’t suck and I hate to sound like a whiny little beyotch, but I am kinda broken hearted.