Yeah, right.

Some pictures from our trip to Jamaica.

Round Hill is a resort near Montego Bay and it is beautiful and the villas with the private swimming pools are amazing.

View from villa

In the villa everything was a pristine white.

Livingroom

This was the view from the bedroom

Pool

…and this is the bedroom

Bedroom

The beach was a bit small but beautiful:

Beach

We even had our own little terrace where we could have coffee, eat our breakfast and watch the ocean:

Terrace

I miss the beach. Le Sigh.

I recently reconnected with some of my childhood friends on Facebook (hi Juli and Ada!) and unlike my husband who is a bit more stand-off-ish about these things (“why would I want to be Facebook friends with the neighbor of my brother’s girlfriend’s sister??”) I was pretty excited. Because it’s been many, many years since we’ve spoken or seen each other or even knew anything about our paths since we became adults. (bleah. adults.)

So we had to recap our lives in a few words and I realized that between then and now the only thing connecting the worlds that I’ve encountered is, well, me.

I’ve moved a lot: from my home town to the town where I went to highschool and then on to the city where I went to college. Then moved to the city where I had my first job after college, and then packed up and flew across the Atlantic to the city where I got my graduate degree and where I got my new job that soon became an old job and then got another job and then another one…

I’ve changed careers, changed my hair, my language, my country, my marital status. Made friends, lost friends, made new friends, fell out of touch, got back in touch, made more new friends that don’t know the old friends and some who do. Started looking for even more friends.

Got thin, gained weight, lost some weight, gained even more, got fat, slimmed down, gained it back (this is an infinite loop I feel like so I will stop here).

Did a lot of different things, some of them successful, some of them less than so. I’ve yet to actually get my dream job so this one also has the potential of becoming an infinite loop.

Looking back now I feel like every one of these chapters was a completely different life that happened to a completely different person with, of course, different hair.

They say that cats have nine lives. I haven’t counted mine but it feels like at least seven.

No wonder I’m so tired…