Ramble on Rose...

As I gather my things to pack for my trip, I can feel the jolt of excitement zipping through my veins.

Not because I’m going someplace new or even luxurious. It’s because I can’t wait to slow down.

Ironic, isn’t it?

I try to think of what I need and can’t get through half of my short list. I got as far as bathing suit, flip flops, toothbrush.  Then the questions pop into my head,

Do I need a brush?  The answer is no, but I pack one anyway.

How soon can we leave? As soon as I’m done packing – which makes me throw odd items into my bag to make it appear to be packed but doesn’t actually have things I need in it. I’m fooling no one, including myself.

How many books should I bring? As many as I can pack. Better to have a book and not need it than to need it and not have one.

How soon can we leave? Again, as soon as I’m done packing. Better get a handle on my ADD.

After packing all my essential and non-essential items (brush = non-essential/ peanut butter crackers = essential) I am ready to walk out the door.

I’m OCD enough that I check all the locks a prerequisite 3 times and hop in the car. My excitement mounts. I can’t wait. I can’t wait. I can’t wait. I become hyper-focused on my quest. I can’t stop smiling, but when I look in the mirror I can’t tell if I look happy or somewhat deranged.

Heaven help the fools who are in front of me on the road.

Get out of my way! Move it! I’m on a mission! I need to relax in the worst way. Don’t you people understand?!  I need to get there now so I can chill out.

I can see the irony from here, but know that the only way to calm down is not by breathing exercises or soothing music, but by putting my feet in the warm summer sand. I know the moment my toes hit the beach I will release all the tension and pent-up energy and loosen up like a wet noodle.

Why is the beach such a salve to my bruised mental state? Bruised by work tension, general life crap, and just God-awful winter stress, it seems to be never-ending this year.

Why is it that the moment I smell the salt marshes I can feel the manic smile disappear and the easy one replace it? My foot lightens up on the gas pedal and in my head I can hear my inner voice sing “almost there, almost there, almost there…”

Did I have a past-life that was based around the ocean? I’ve been told I have salt-water in my veins and that I can’t help my yearning, and that I’m from Viking and pirate stock. Pretty bad ass if you ask me.  Although I just can’t imagine those types of people stretching out on the beach soaking up the sunshine with a good book to read.

I don’t need to be on the ocean, just near it. The family fisherman warns me of the lurking dangers hidden in the dark depths of the sea. (insert “Jaws” theme here) Ones with big teeth and a penchant for warm flesh to nibble on.  I like my warm flesh right where it is. I don’t want to be considered part of the smorgasbord to be noshed upon.  I just want to listen to the ocean and lay upon the sand.  Is that too much to ask?