This is really ending

The bags are packed. So are the flip-flops. I'm back in my trusty yoga pants, an appropriately supportive bra hooked across my back. It feels too tight.

The room is surprisingly tidy - I wonder if housekeeping staff notice/appreciate when an outgoing guest leaves the room like this. It breaks my heart a little that it almost looks like we were never here.

Sous Chef is working on a presentation he has to give first thing tomorrow morning, flipping through a horticulture magazine, circling purple flowers and noting varieties and species of plants he wants to use this Fall. Yesterday, I weeded through over 600 work emails with the hope that Monday morning will hurt a little less.

The flowers in the small vase beside me here on the glass table are starting to wilt; I'm actually surprised they've lasted this long. Must be something about the salty sea air. I'm convinced the sodium molecules in the mist somehow osmotically enter any living thing around them and heal, refresh, and nourish whatever needs a little boost.

I've got salt crystals on my arm; I must've been sprayed with some sea water on the walk up to breakfast this morning. Yesterday, I could have played an extra in a Twilight movie, I was so sparkly with salt. The water here seems more salinated; so much so that Sous Chef was able to float effortlessly. Normally, he sinks like a bad fruitcake.

My mind is overflowing with things I want to talk to you about. I'm so scared I'm going to forget something. Like the mongooses (mongeese?) or the secret onion ring sauce or the fact that it is physically impossible for a curvy girl to walk gracefully across a beach. I'm afraid I'll forget to tell you about my first time snorkeling. Or the simultaneous terror and exhilaration of maneuvering a kayak across the crystal aqua water. And the stories I heard from the locals - the taxi driver's favorite food, the beach waitress's sojourn here after closing shop on her life in California. How the Cruzan rum flows like water, and how a couple of Dark n' Stormies can lead to one of the best conversations you've ever had.

Maybe I'll forget. Maybe I won't. I guess I'll have to be okay with it either way.