When you are headed to Mexico in eight days and twelve hours, something happens. It's unconscious like blinking or falling asleep after you've sipped half a bottle of Nyquil. You start thinking about the beach. Daydreaming about the sand and palms. About walking in that foamy intersection of water with sand. You imagine warmth at your back as you lay at the pool and read a magazine. And you can almost taste the authentic salsa. Right?
About a week out, EVERYTHING starts to remind me of the beach. My coconut shampoo and conditioner, sun shining through my windshield as I drive on the freeway, and music. Reggae is the easiest connection - but I was singing along to Danny's Song (even thought we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey), and all I could think about was the beach. Why? because forgive me, I'm feeling beachy.
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