I need a vacation. Someplace where the sand burns the soles of my feet. The air is scented with rotting fruit and the salt tang of the sea. The sky is such a deep blue that it seems crayoned in. It’s not that I’m overworked. Or stressed more than usual. I need a change of pace.
It was so easy to pack on the extra pounds. Lots of great meals and excellent wine now reside on my hips, my belly, my breasts. I want the jiggle to be gone, but man is it difficult.
This is how I’m feeling. Sharpish. Prickly. Somewhat blurred. I still have intentions. I know I have to work harder, but I’m annoyed that I have to. I