“Booze in the blender” may be a peculiar phrase to start off a piece about space and locations, considering I am not huge drinker, but it is definitely one of the first things that come to my mind as I started writing. The line, as I am using it, comes from a little song called “Margaritaville” by one Jimmy Buffet; and it whisks me away to a far off land of beautiful white beaches. A cool beverage, meant to numb me to the vendettas and tribulations of the world with each sensational sip, sits gently in my hand as I stretch out in a cheaply made lawn chair.
The orange rays gently caress as I barely move my slothful figure, bronzing like a thanksgiving turkey in the oven, and moving about half as much. As I turn over and relax on my stomach, I place the drink down and sweep my hands across the soft grains, crafted from a gentleness that is unknown to the rocky shores that lay near my home. Each small speck works actively to steal your stress away and launch it to the earth’s molten core miles away. The breeze sweeps over me, an invisible quilt that Mother Nature has made for my slight moment of bliss, as I feel the grains in my palms. Speaking of palms, they sway back and forth, rocking me to sleep with their rhythms that match the waves.
The song plays in the back ground, with me ironically feel peace. The Irony comes from a song about drowning your remorse in semi-cheap booze making me feel so content with the universe. This is a lot better than papers. It’s a lot better than exams. This is the view that I see in my mind, though it’s not a view from my room per se. There’s no way I am letting a view like that taunt me with its lusciousness and not be part of it! Unless I am stuck doing homework a zillion miles away. Sigh.