Let's have some cheese with that whine.

I already know the eye-rollage that this post will produce from some. And sweet Lord, I want you to know I'm rolling my eyes at myself. If that helps. Probably not. Just know that I know I'm ridiculous.

I am in a state of mourning. I didn't expect it to hit me quite so hard, but here we are.

Literally. Here we are with no hope for an escape from the DC suburbs.

Last year this time (this day), we were arriving in Maine for 7 blissful weeks.

I didn't know how much I'd love it. I didn't even know I'd like it. And I am forever altered, for better or worse.

Y'all, I am pining for that lifestyle.  Not the 'vacation' lifestyle, because everyone knows that If all the days were holidays, to sport would be as tedious as to work. (Yes. You've been Henry IVth'd on a Monday. Sorry.), . . . .

But the slow-paced, cheap lobster everywhere, cool breeze in your hair, no bugs in your face, walk everywhere you go, scenery so beautiful it looks fake, friendly people, thrift store shopping, farmer's market going, chance you'll spot a moose or wild blueberry bushes, discovering things I didn't even know existed and loving them kind of lifestyle.

I am ruined. In that whiny, pretentious "when we summered in Maine" way (easily confused with the "Blast it, this Chardonnay is far too dry. I'm sending it back!" way).

DC suburbs, I'm sending you back to the bar in favor of a sweeter place and time.

Find me in Waterville, if only in my dreams.

Lobster bib and undeniable nose bump from a kickball gone awry in 5th grade remain uncropped in the name of imagery and added character (respectively).