With nothing left of my Maui trip except peeling skin and sand cascading out of the laundry that still needs to be done, my memories are the only thing keeping me warm on these chilly Seattle nights.

First impression getting off the plane? “Goddamn, it’s fucking hot here!” That, and the airport smelled of dirt.

First thing I did? Rolled up my pant legs, for I am the nerd that forgot to layer.

And what about the rest of the trip? Imbibing chilled tropical concoctions with the frilly umbrellas, spending time driving around the island with wind whipping our hair and sun burning our hands (for those of you who haven’t ridden in a car with me I must always ride with a window down and a hand riding the air. Apparently I haven’t progressed beyond 6 years old. Or my canine stage.), and spending vast lengths of time laying on beaches and trying not to drown in gigantic waves that like pulling off swimsuits.

To sum, it was perfect.

I also gave myself an extension of vacation after coming back. Mental exhaustion and emotional turmoil has made me somewhat unstable and the two extra days gave me the serenity to calm down a bit. And I’m sure the 87 degree weather in Maui didn’t hurt.