Category: From the road

By now there are approximately zero individuals out there wondering what we decided to do with our vacation.

I blame my lack of writing with enough regularity and compelling content to keep you invested; but in larger part I also blame who gives a crap?!

Either way, here I am. Amelia Island, take 4. I’m at my keyboard in the hotel room at a quarter of two on a Monday afternoon with the beach glaring in with an evil, sun drenched eye and cursing at me via waves that seep in from the other side of the sheer curtains in the room that overlooks the dunes. They’re wondering why I’m not out there, why I’m not further aggravating my already red, blistered skin. I’m flipping them both a mental finger. The Mc is off golfing, and I’ve had my fill of being tucked under an umbrella while I alternate jotting thoughts on my yellow tablet, reading a book I wish I was enjoying more than I am, and being pelted with sand during the occasional gust.

I’d rather be writing.

We decided we’d return to Amelia Island for a number of reasons, not the least of which was a call from my doctor asking me to come back for more tests and with it, a particular date/time frame to land said visit smack in the middle of our vacation week.

No matter! I’m determined to make it an adventure in a totally different way. The extended weekend of reckless abandon, of trying out fashion bits I’d never do if I ran the risk of being seen by anyone I know, of listening to new podcasts and singing our way through the drive along with singles from Glee. Don’t judge. Hater.

So, sure, I bought a few pretty dresses that make me feel like a fraud, complete with wedge sandals and some different – for me – accessories. I had my nails painted in a color several friends will be proud of (I’ve already emailed them pictures), but that also are outside my comfort zone. Why not go all the way and don a scarlet letter? Meh. We have delightful intentions that involve dancing, staying up late enough for a whimsical moonlit walk on the beach, and enduring a few ridiculously decadent meals my colon and muffin top will no doubt retaliate for.

Oh, and I’m writing. See also: reckless abandon.

I write, you read. It's a clean and simple relationship.