I am sitting here at my desk gazing out at the sun glinting off the deep topaz Pacific, creating diamonds in my vision. The ocean stretches to fill my view, meeting a sky so bright and blue it could have been delivered by Tiffany's. The recent rains have turned the three islands into verdant hills that bisect my view. Up close, the waves gently crash on the shore, creating an impossibly white foam that contrasts with the deep golden sand. A fresh ocean breeze sends the palm fronds to swaying and tickles the hair on my neck. It's another perfect day here in paradise, and I'm sick of it.

We get about 355 days of sun a year here in Mazatlan, so today's perfection is just another day in a long line of perfection. I long for a cloudy day or two (or three). I want baleful, leaden skies and blustery wind. I want the kind of day that makes you want to lay around and read a book and eat soup. I don't want the clouds all the time, mind you. I just want a few days that will let me really appreciate all this damned perfection. Does that make me a bad person?