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Real life sucks. I just want to go to the beach.
Do you ever have that nagging feeling where all you want to do is go to the beach?
This happens to me every winter. It’s cold, a little too wet, and way too dreary. All I want to do is go to the beach. It permeates every thought I have.
I should be paying bills, but I find myself researching cruises I could totally afford if it weren’t for that pesky mortgage.
I think my bank would understand if I explained to them that the beach trip was absolutely necessary for my mental health, right?
I should be doing laundry, but I look out the window, and pretend that grey Sky is Caribbean blue. There’s just something about the sky there that makes it seem more blue than any other sky in the world.
I should be making dinner, but I can’t stop thinking about eating Jamaican jerk from a stand on the beach.
What is it about Jamaican jerk that makes it okay to taste a little sand in your food? I like to think it’s the salt in the air.
I’m sitting in the car line waiting to pick up my daughter, but I can’t stop thinking about sitting in a chair, watching her play at the edge of the water. Building sand castles and laughing.
The beach is such a happy place. You can’t be sad at the beach.
You know where you can be sad? Anywhere that’s not the beach. Mountains are all about reflection and thought. Mountains are practically made to be sad in.
The beach even has an entire genre of books named after it. The “beach read” if you will. It’s happy-go-lucky books that don’t require too much thought or retrospection.
Books guaranteed to keep you in a good mood.
It’s like bills and chores and life problems don’t happen at the beach.
There’s something about the surf spray that keeps them all at bay.
Sometimes when I’m standing line at the store, I think about leaving regular society all together and moving into a tiny house near the beach.
And then I start imagining that I could really do it. That I could move to the beach, and live out the rest of my days as a sun-kissed sea bum.
I don’t know how to surf, but maybe I could open a surf shop. I mean, this is just a fantasy anyway.
Maybe in my fantasy beach life I could be a 40 year old overweight woman who learns to surf.
I feel like that’s a lifetime movie waiting to happen.