Island Time.

Well, I've gone and done it again. It's almost springtime, and I'm in ultra fuck-winter mode. It was minus -17C today, and I didn't wear gloves just to spite the weather. My skin is about as pasty as it gets, and I'm sick of wearing clothes. Work is stressful, my neighbours suck, and at the moment, my fucks given are at approximately 0. It is at this very instant that my empty credit card takes it's yearly hit: it's vacation time, and I'm blasting out of this city with both middle fingers in the air.

Really, anywhere with swim-able water and temperatures above freezing would have done, but there's only one place where the jerk is so spicy that it makes you feel like you're traveling through time, pot is so accessible that they basically hand you a lit joint as you walk off the plane, and a giant ass is your ticket into everywhere you want to be. It's time for my triumphant return to Jamaica, and I couldn't be more excited.

In two weeks I won't have to worry about the cold. There will be days where I pass off a bathing suit as a decent outfit. Goats will be temporarily seen as both adorable pets and delicious curries. Every souvenir I see will be equal parts of clever and offensive. My responsibilities will be a million miles away, and every drink I have will be both slushy and served in a pineapple. It's island time, and I couldn't be more relieved.

~sarah p.