Margaritaville

I finally feel like I'm on vacation.

Yesterday, I only left my room for specific errands -- eating, checking out the gift shop, visiting the one small area of the complex with wifi -- and spent the bulk of the day curled up in bed, blowing my nose. Last night around 10, out on my balcony in the midst of muffled strains of It's Raining Men from the Disco, I also heard crickets, and the crashing of waves against the shore. I looked up at the stars, felt the breeze, and became determined not to waste my remaining days here in the sun.

Luckily I woke up early this morning, still with a cold, but feeling much, much better. So, after breakfast, I packed my beach bag with essentials, slathered myself in sunscreen (even with only a few minutes outdoors yesterday my nose turned a lively pink), and vowed not to go back to my room until sundown. I'm certain this much pleases the non-English-speaking maid, who was quite dismayed yesterday to keep finding a "Do not disturb"sign on my door, no matter how many times she returned, desperate to clean up after me.

As I started my day walking on to the private beach, Jimmy Buffett's perennial resort favorite Margaritaville was playing, which struck me as cheesily apropos, although since I don't wear flip-flops, I'm unlikely to blow one out during my time here.

So in that spirit, I'm now going to shut down this electronic leash and head back to reading by the pool, where odds are high that my latest foray into the world of Bill Bryson will be accompanied by my third (or so) beer of the day.

Life is good here. Wish you were here... but mostly very glad that I am.