Como puede ser verdad?

I woke up this morning with “La isla bonita” on my mind.
I actually thought about two weeks I spent in Crete in 2007 with the parents. The opposite of glamorous, but one of the best times of my life. It was May, and Falassarna, a village two days by car from the airport, was deserted (the nearest bar was 6 miles from our bungalow, and it was more the kind of place where local Grannies play cards than my usual venue).
In front of the bungalow laid a giant beach of pink sand that covered the whole bay. No one else was there at that time of the year, and I’d lay in sun the whole day shamelessly naked (who was there to see anyway?), reading books, taking naps, swimming in the crystal sea (still slightly cold in the beginning of May), just chilling.

I woke up at six this morning, it was raining and I rode my bike to the gym and hit the threadmill to run my 5 miles. Yesterday night I came back late from work. I shall probably say this morning, actually, because it was 1 AM.
Although I’m not running every morning (I must admit I’m skipping the gym more often than I find acceptable), I’ve been working with these schedules over the last two weeks, and each other day I have to work in a freezing depot in the outskirts. No wonder I dream of going back to Falassarna. Now wonder when I think about it, I think “How could it be real?”

The light at the end of the tunnel: this project (which, by the way, is NOT a project of my service line, so I also understand NOTHING about it) was supposed to end by Feb 28. Today I’ve been told it won’t be over before March 15, and it may last until the end of March.