the ocean

After squeezing a month of content out of a nine-day trip, I'm struggling a bit to figure out where to go next here. Somehow I fear that the saga of the dental work to install my new crown will not prove as compelling as our journeys across Spain. (Although there was a suspected high rise fire involved, to be fair.) But that's kind of why we like vacations, isn't it? They are a break from the routine, in ways both good and bad. And anyone who has encountered a toilet-seat-less train station bathroom in Cordoba can vouch for me on the latter. 

Anyway, I am squarely back in the routine now, and I guess I should just feel fortunate that I like my routine just fine. I'm working, reading in the hammock and getting slightly sunburned, getting wine drunk with friends, taking a Zumba class about which I have very complex feelings, and so on. We had our masonry power washed, which brought me the greatest OCD delight you can possibly imagine. We commissioned a painting for our living room, which is probably the bougiest sentence I have ever written. But it is a sentence, which means that I have found something to write about!

Honestly, any readers I have at this point certainly understand that my life is hardly the stuff of Tom Clancy novels. Not even the TV versions with Jim from The Office.