There are few things in this world that I love more than the ocean. At the present moment I can think of zero things, but I bet if I spent a couple hours scouring the internets for videos of kitten birthday parties, I could come up with a few. In any event, I punked out of work a little early on Thursday and went to the beach for a long weekend of sun, fun, relaxation, and pina coladas. It was just what the doctor ordered– which I can say because one of my traveling companions was a doctor, and she was the one who purchased the pina colada mix.
Every morning, the eastern-rising sun reflected light off the Atlantic that woke me up bright and early, and for once I didn’t complain. I went on morning jogs on the beach, which my achilles and busted knee hated, but my soul loved. I read an entire Ken Follet novel, while lounging about here:
It was magical. Even my lingering fear of sharks couldn’t keep me land-bound, as I swam about in the warm water and floated amongst the fishes.
Every once in a while I’d venture inside to cheer on Russ and congratulate him on his promotion and for breaking the color barrier that had suppressed his career climb these past three years. Or I’d take a break from pina colada-ing and switch to strawberry dacquiries and wonder if it was my drunken haze that made me think that Clint Eastwood was arguing with an empty chair or whether I was watching an infomercial on AARP-endorsed supplemental health insurance. Either way, I was pleased with my reality. At one point I found myself drinking a blue moon on a blue moon. I have the commemorative pint glass to prove it.
Then I came home. That’s when things started to go downhill. The Post-vacation mean reds are the worst. In a normal week, work is not great, but it’s endurable thanks to things called cocktails and cable television. Returning to work after lounging at the beach and literally drinking buckets of champagne is impossible. The only thing I currently have going for me is the knowledge that Blair from Facts of Life will be on this season’s Survivor. Perhaps I can focus on that and muddle through somehow until I forget how awesome my vacation was altogether and return to my myrmidonic toils without too much angst or residual disappointment.
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