I was not so sentimental as to run in the ocean on January first. Oddly, the thought never crossed my mind. It would be two days before I went down to the beach.
The first was on January first but I only wanted to be on the beach; I closed the book (Wicked
), shut my eyes, and was out for a 
spell owing to the mimosas I had for breakfast. Embarrassed for having fallen asleep, I got up and left and was too sleepy to flirt back with the two girls who were giggling and taking my picture...as I slept? Rather intrusive of them, no?
Yesterday I went back and, again, nodded off (I finished off the breakfast brew batch which only amounted to two mimosas; champagne and sparking wine trigger somnolence in me...and what a somnolence!). The Sun was intense. I was sweating under the neck and felt a touch of delirium so I strode straight into the waves and cooled off, never minding the initial coldness of the water. And as I smiled and tread water, snapped out of my sluggishness, I thought to myself, Why has it taken me three days to get here? Then a wonderful refrain gushed forth: I looooove my life.
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