a break. an escape route. a vacation. a place to breathe. i needed to get away. i didn't know what else to do, so i did the closest i could get to checking myself into a mental institution and to save myself from permanently checking out emotionally: i rented the Jacuzzi suite at the DoubleTree hotel.

it was a little more than out of my price range. i also wasn't opposed to another place of escape or type outlet for whatever it is i'm going through- i just knew i needed to GO and DoubleTree is the first thing that popped up on google.

i was leaving for a multitude of reasons, two of the biggest being i was tired of people asking what is wrong and if i am okay (because I AM OKAY), and i didn't want my sister to see my cry, yet i couldn't seem to stop.

just pulling out of my residence with my car windows down, away from my possessions, internet, and television, the tightness around my throat began to loosen.

shortly after checking into the DoubleTree front desk, i took a deep breath and stuck my keycard into the door of room 205.

exhale. i was greeted by friendly soothing colors: light blues, browns and turquoise. the first room had a couch, television and armchair, a table and small kitchenette area. i dropped my bags and ran into the second room, jumping on the giant bed oblivious to the nearby open window, or anyone who might witness this outburst. after a few minutes of jumping, feeling light and free, i collapsed face first into the down pillows, and cried out, "God! i just want someone to share THIS with…" 'THIS' carrying a heavy load of meaning with it, yet directed towards no one in particular.

the rest of the night passed as planned: without plan. i ate my Mexican take-out, watched brainless television shows, took a nap in the arm chair, drank tea, took a long Jacuzzi bath, and wrote a letter to my best friend on every sheet of paper in the complimentary DoubleTree notepad.

as i tucked myself into bed at 3 am, a piece of paper fell from the head of the bed: an order form for room service breakfast. i figured what the heck, and checked coffee, cranberry juice, eggs, bacon and hashbrowns with a nine o'clock delivery preference, off on the list before placing the card outside the door.

the next morning i awoke to a nine o'clock knock upon the door. i thanked the room service and took the breakfast tray back to my bed. it was the day before thanksgiving and i had planned to spend the day of turkey with one of my best friends, who is about to deploy to Iraq, in whatever manner she wanted to spend the holiday. i knew she was flying in from vegas this day, and called her to see if she wanted me to reserve the DoubleTree suite for a second night. she said yes.

after my dear friend arrived, the next twenty-four hour passed through our souls like a flu through the body: painful yet detoxifying. we talked, shared, cried, laughed, remembered, forgot, did cartwheels, sang, drank wine, ate chocolate, jumped on the bed, and passed out before we turned into pumpkins.

thanksgiving morning woke us a little before nine a.m. the price of a suite brings with it a late check-out hour, and we spent the next few hours leisurely getting dressed and packing up our lives. my friend was in a bit of a rush to get on the road to her next destination, but before she left we decided to stop and smell the roses, in the form of a letter. on a single sheet of notebook paper, we each filled up one side. the content was things we were grateful for, things that are important to us, and a little life lesson thrown in. we left the finished letter unsigned, and addressed as so: Dear someone who needs a kind word, or just anyone…

when the letter was finished, we rode the elevator to the 4^th floor and in letting it go, left a piece of ourselves. as my dear friend and i parted ways, i felt the sting of farewell with the promise of i'll be seeing you.

now i sit here, at nine p.m. on thanksgiving day, listening to a song by the doves; a song that speaks to the memory of home that resides inside. as i listen to the music, my own words echo in the background, "God! i just want someone to share THIS with.." my mind flashes across the faces of the wonderful 'someones' that surround me in life, bringing with it an abrupt end to my pity party and a warm rush of gratitude: i've dranken no eggnog nor eaten any turkey today, but i am well aware of my full cup.

THANK YOU, GOD. THANK YOU, FOR IT ALL.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!