seasons in the sun

What a start to the day. A cold, rainy morning made it hell to leave my bed. Snoozed over and over again. It took near superhuman effort to haul myself off my bed and into office. Didn’t help that I had had a drink or two or three last night, beer at that. On a Monday.

Still haven’t figured out what I plan to do. Nothing comes to mind. I need focus; a cold, one-tracked, single-minded, driven focus.

There’s something pleasingly soothing about Latin-esque music. No, I’m not referring to Gypsy Kings or Enrique Iglesias. I mean something smoother, Bossa Nova-like. Girl from Ipanema, now that’s a tune, with the horns and maracas and catchy tune. Takes you right back to the beach, shorts and sunglasses, with a cold drink in hand and a cigarette in the other, watching the waves roll gently and the girls sway seductively as they walk by. Then, as the sun sets, The Look of Love whispers smoulderingly from an open air bar. Doesn’t matter if it’s Dusty Springfield or Diana Krall, the sensuous song just caresses the beach bum in you and makes you embrace the night like a dear friend or treasured lover. And to emphasise this Latin double play flavour, Besame Mucho. You walk on the sands of Rio, watching the candlelit diners that line the beach on one side, sipping on a chilled glass of sangria as the sea kisses you with her warm breath; all this within the confines of your ever-restless mind, yearning to be set free.

Then, the hunter in you slinks out gracefully as you head for the dance floor, cue Te Amo Corazon. Silky and intense, you move to beat of the cool sounds of Prince, looking tentatively at the person mirroring your dance, wondering if the gods of Love and Lust favour you tonight. No, they don’t. Ah well, you return to your room alone, but at least the sleek, mysterious riffs of She’s Not There infuse you with hope for a more bountiful tomorrow.

Such is life.