I wake to rain pounding the windows, wind whipping the house. I half-expect to open my curtains to see palms trees thrashing the pre-dawn air, open my slider to hear the crashing surf. It feels just like the last week I spent in the Bahamas.
Everyone said it was unusually cold that week, at least ten degrees cooler than normal. Which was somewhat comforting since the only thing I kept wishing while there was that it was at least ten degrees warmer. Well that and... will those $*#%!$-ing bugs stop BITING me?
I sit in my Seattle bed and reminisce by scratching. There are more noseum bites on my arms, legs, and torso - even my feet and fingers - than there is tanned skin. If I was a calomine lotion girl, I'd just pour thirty of the melted strawberry ice cream bottles into a bathtub and crawl inside. As it is I have used up a whole tube of hydrocortisone cream and am getting set to crack a new one.
Thunder rumbles in the distance while I look at the steady glow of my one am (1254 to be precise) clock radio, and this almost finally breaks the spell. The frequent windstorms in Bahamas lacked thunder, but that didn't stop them from shaking down power lines; the power in our hotel went out so often that I never actually got a chance to set the flashing just-woken LCD of the ancient clock radio on the nightstand to the correct time. Instead I'd click the shutter on my camera, press play, and mentally adjust the timestamp by three hours.
But here I am, in the middle of the night, awake, mentally adjusting the glowing numbers on the clock as if it will anchor me, feeling my dreams fade. It's exactly like every night on my just-ended tropical vacation. I had a lovely time but it was cold, itchy, and I couldn't sleep.
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