After a week in Sunny San Diego (even if the temperatures were mostly in the sixties instead of the seventies) it feels pretty depressing coming home to the gray and cold and snow of Minnesota. I left my heart in San Diego.
I know, I know. Not too long ago I rambled on about wanting to move to New York. Well, people, a girl's got the right to change her tune. And I am la-la-laing from the sophisticated aria of New York to the beachy rock of San Diego.
(Sorry, Sister, there's something about the sun's siren song thats pulling me to an opposite coast.)
My husband, although also suffering from some post-vacation fog, loves to talk about where we were and what we were doing at this time last week. And I love to remember vacation, but it isn't bringing me the same satisfaction it seems to be bringing him. My heart just sinks at the thought Shamu splashes, local burger dives, and lazy nights around the fire. Because that is no longer my life.
Oh, I could go on and on I'm sure, but I'll try to refrain. As my mother pointed out, at least I was in San Diego. On another day I will delightfully relive my vacation and try to feel the warmth of the sun through my words...
On the other hand, I could just keep trying to convince my husband that we should move to Southern California. Or at the very least plan another warm weather vacation. Soon.