#116 - Mosquitos Suck

You work your ass off and deserve a vacation. You save, plan and prepare while exerting double the energy for the chance to finally check out and head for that sandy paradise for a classic decompress. So, when the bags are loaded with your scene safely in the rearview, a healthy exhale loosens the shackles. But there's still the travel—the scramble to the airport for the obligatory grope from TSA, the uncomfortable close proximity to unsavory strangers, and the cultural barriers that add to the uncertainty. Eventually, you settle in, figure out food and acclimate to the surroundings as the echoes of your three-ring life finally begin to wither into inaudible static. Here, the suit noose is unknotted and traded for sandals in the sand, memorable breezes, and a fresh day at the beach. You've earned this break. The quietude of ocean whispers is palpable, accentuated with unapologetic sunshine and careless laughter. This is the perfect time for a spliff with a freshly hacked coconut served chilled, rightfully accompanied by a bamboo straw. This is your oasis of fluffy clouds and salt. A deserved respite to create open space in the crowded turnstile mind and begin the healing so that you can return refreshed and recharged. This time is for you. This is where you relish in your accomplishments and reflect with gratitude. Suddenly, what do you hear? It's a buzz—a fly, a mosquito? No, it is much bigger. "Is it someone's music down the beach?" you ask as the equivalent to the scratching needle down the vinyl breaks the hypnosis of your ambiance. This is a dissonant tone, replete of anything remotely enjoyable. It is high, but nothing enters the periphery, until there, creating a smudge on your perfect horizon is a propeller plane lugging a banner that advertises a discount buffet. The invader, you surmise, probably cut a deal with the local sleazeball governor to rent the view, essentially putting a mustache on your Mona Lisa. It is that moment that you realize there is no escape from the dirty pickpockets who scour the empty corners lurking for nefarious opportunity--the junk mailers, scam callers, and the perpetrators of personal space. It is at that moment that you realize that nothing is sacred anymore.