The monthlong stretch of 60- to 80-hour workweeks is now behind me. We finished on Monday with a relatively unclimactic 6pm (PDT, 3am on Tuesday here) code freeze. Yesterday I cooked a giant pot of pasta and forced myself to gorge like crazy in order to finally catch my stomach up for the meals I had missed while I spent 24 hours on airplanes. I’m not very good at, you know, eating, so I’ve basically been hungry since I landed. And last night, for the first time, I managed to get some sleep at a relatively normal (for me) time, from 4am–9am.

So, with all those things taken care of, I woke up and headed to the beach. And while I was sitting there, reading on a blue, sand-covered lounge chair that I had rented for 12 shekels, watching the dogs excitedly run into and out of the surf, I realized I felt really, really great for the first time since I got here. And that hanging out by the sea in the daytime and meeting strangers in the nighttime (and, yes, the early morning) are my only commitments for the next three weeks. Sunburn and hangovers are my only concerns. My life is pretty fucking sweet.

NOT THAT I’M BRAGGING. (Totes bragging.)