When we pulled back into San Diego for good Wednesday after spending three months in the world's most claustrophobic hotel, I rejoiced. I gazed lovingly into my full sized fridge, spun with outstretched arms in our second bedroom, intentionally dirtied more dishes than necessary just to have the joy of sticking them in the dishwasher, and strongly fought the desire to lay face down on the dining room table from the sheer joy of not having to eat three meals a day on a loveseat anymore. Then reality hit . . .
Sam: "We should probably clean this place before putting everything away. It is pretty dusty."
Laura: "Clean?!? Oh crap."
As I grudgingly got out the 409, I found part of me wishing I was back in Port Hueneme, conveniently vacating my room at approximately 1:30 everyday for housekeeping. Sigh. The grass is always greener on the other side.
1 month ago