Molokai Madness

Molokai Madness

For those of you readers wondering “How long can someone live alone in almost total seclusion on an almost deserted island before she looses her mind?”

The answer is… six months.

Coo-coo for cocoa puffs.
Lost her marbles.
Gone bananas.
Off her rocker.
I’m breaking down and falling apart,
And all the king’s horses and all the king’s men,
No one could put humpty dumpty back together again.
I’m cracking up and there is no nice way to say it.

Maybe if I could go into a Starbucks (judge away!) every once in a while and sit in the cool comfort of plush upholstered chairs, air conditioning, canned hip music, and consistent coffee beverages… maybe then I could make it.

Maybe if I could get a jar of almond butter without having to donate a kidney to pay for it….

Maybe if I could wake up to a world of cement and pavement where the voices of the trees and bushes demanding attention like unwanted step-children could not find me…

Maybe if I didn’t have to stare into the mysterious chemical abyss that is my swimming pool…

Maybe if I could have one day of rain...
Just one day.
(strangely just started raining when I wrote this)

Don’t get me wrong.
I love Molokai…
I just can’t stand it!
I want to sneak out while the cats away and jump on an airplane headed to somewhere HUGE with coldness and lots of hard ground and traffic and Starbucks on every corner (continue judging). I want people in my space, getting all up in my grill, invading my privacy and what not. I want to see folks in the rat race, working for “the man,” complaining about pensions and retirement packages and the failing economy. I want to feel the vibe, the pulse, the heartbeat of a city!

"Try Wait" I remind myself.

Then I take a moment here on my little island to walk outside under the cool moonlight.
It throws itself over the ocean where the waves are growing everyday with the promise of surf and winter storms.
My cat’s white hair glows as she sits calmly on my lap and we smile as we listen to the wind rustle through the palm frawns.
I smell the ripening mango from the tree next to me as it wafts over through the night air so fresh and so clean.
My skin and body and all the places in between let go and relax.
And I hear the island say: “Not yet, you are not ready yet. We have other things to show you before you leave.”

“How about showing me a decent Americano for crying out loud???” I joke (but not really).
I know the island is right.
I know this madness is only temporary.
I know I am just growing and I know that this current frustration will schluff off like an old skin in the coming weeks revealing something… I know not what.
Something amazing I guess!

Like a Starbucks? (i am shamed)