Laundry was taken care of last night. "Don't forget" lists are being made (phone charger, cumin seed, cigars, beach chair, watercolors). Cash has been withdrawn. Piles of nearly weightless, cotton-y clothing items are building gradually on the surfaces in my bedroom. I've landed upon the perfect sheer, satiny red SPF lip smear called "Tropical Kiss." My bottle of bourbon is waiting seductively on the kitchen counter. The iPod is loaded with all brands of vacationish tunes. Sunscreen soldiers are lined up on my dressing table, 15, 10, 4.
I'm even wearing white jeans in total defiance of the cold and rain. HA! Take that, winter. I bite my thumb in your general direction. You cannot last, history tells me so. As does the Farmer's Almanac.