Living Life As A Writer Of Things
The vision has always been clear. I’d lounge on a hammock most of the morning, reading, thinking, readying myself for a day of work. Once of clear mind, I would step into the blue sea, let the white sands massage my toes and the Pelicans stare longingly, again disappointed a mid-morning treat from the human wasn’t in the offing.
I would then retreat to my computer and compose. The local adolescent entrepreneur would fetch me newspapers and rum drinks from the tiki bar at the end of the road to fuel my prose. And words of grandeur would spring to life on my screen, and later on pages in front of you.
By late afternoon, hungry for food and break, I’d dive into the ocean, soak up just enough sun and surf to make my bare skin tolerable to visiting tourists, then rinse off for my evening. My stroll to the Tiki Hut might include small talk with the souvenir lady or the entrepreneur’s father … Mi Padre … who is good at fixing things. Then a seafood salad and cervesa while the local soccer teams play on the television in the background.
Some tourists might intrigue or inspire me into curious conversation, but by early evening it’s back to the cabana for more composition. As the to-go pitcher of rum drink dwindles, the work ends. I lie back in the hammock to enjoy the stars and imagine what those not living in a Caribbean paradise are doing with their lives.
Tomorrow, I will do it all again. Perhaps a friend will visit next month. Perhaps not. But this is how I imagine life as a writer of things.
Life as a liver of life has gotten in the way, of course. But this week, I’m living the dream.
January 22, 2013