Everything is annoying me
and taking too damn long.
I’ve lost every scrap of patience;
I think I know what’s wrong.
It happens when I’ve been trapped here,
on this island without a break.
Six months have past without a plan –
a vacation I must take.
The island disease is back again,
it’s reared its ugly head.
Too much time here makes you crazy –
your hunger must be fed.
I’ve got the fever, the Rock Fever –
it comes from feeling stuck.
The only cure is to get on a plane,
and come back refreshed, with luck.
Once you leave here you will remember,
how island life is quite ideal.
But in the meantime it’s all you can do,
to not drink rum for every meal.
I want to kill the tourists,
in all their vacation gaiety.
Their merriment makes me jealous –
I want some frivolity for me.
The cravings, oh the cravings!
I’d kill for Taco Bell.
The food here gets so boring.
I bet they serve fish and chips in Hell.
I want service with a smile,
a sense of urgency would be nice.
The waitress scowled at me today,
and all I asked for was extra ice.
I’ve got the fever, the Rock Fever –
it comes from feeling stuck.
The only cure is to get on a plane,
and come back refreshed, with luck.
Once you leave here you will remember,
how island life is quite ideal.
But in the meantime it’s all you can do,
to not drink rum for every meal.
Everywhere else looks more appealing,
Friends’ Facebook pics make me yearn.
The travel bug has bitten me,
my passport’s started to burn.
The Caribbean climate I normally relish,
has become nothing short of oppressive.
The heat, humidity, and mosquitoes –
it’s all making me aggressive.
I’ve even cursed the sunshine,
prayed for a rainy day.
I want darkness to match this mood of mine;
take this obnoxious blue sky away.
I’ve got the fever, the Rock Fever –
it comes from feeling stuck.
The only cure is to get on a plane,
and come back refreshed, with luck.
Once you leave here you will remember,
how island life is quite ideal.
But in the meantime it’s all you can do,
to not drink rum for every meal.
I want to see a movie,
and shop until I drop.
To do things that are different,
and bring my doldrums to a stop.
A ball game would be super fun,
or a concert with my favorite band.
Something that’s not available here,
frankly anything without sand.
The market is extra depressing;
the state of produce made me cry.
Why is everything covered in mold here?
To go to Whole Foods, I might die.
I’ve got the fever, the Rock Fever –
it comes from feeling stuck.
The only cure is to get on a plane,
and come back refreshed, with luck.
Once you leave here you will remember,
how island life is quite ideal.
But in the meantime it’s all you can do,
to not drink rum for every meal.
To foster a love for where you live,
you must leave from time to time.
I must experience what else is out there,
to appreciate this view of mine.
I know when I return here,
I’ll love this island anew.
I’ll laugh and joke and smile again,
the frustrations will be few.
For this rock that I have chosen,
whose absurdities abound,
is the perfect home for a gyal like me,
whose feet never touch the ground.
Current Rock of Residence:
Virgin Gorda, BVI
Island Girl Since:
2006
Originally Hails From:
California
Chrissann’s home rock in the British Virgin Islands feels bigger to her than it actually is. Though after spending five years on a teensy one acre island, the current 13-mile long rock she’s residing on now IS ginormous, at least by comparison. As with everything in the tropics, it’s all about perspective.
Once upon a time she used to care about things like matching her purse to her pumps but these days, any activities that require a bra and shoes go under careful, is-this-even-worth-it consideration. If island life has taught her anything at all, it’s that few things are more rewarding than time spent in the pool with a cocktail in hand.
As the Editor in Chief of this site, she spends her days working from home with her blue-eyed sidekick, Island Dog Diego, writing, editing, and cultivating content in the hopes of bringing some laughter and lightness to her fellow island souls. She recently published her first children’s book, When You’re a Baby Who Lives on a Rock, and is pretty pumped to share it with all of the island mamas out there. Her days off are typically spent boating, hiking, and meeting up with the neighborhood’s imperious roadside goats, who she shamelessly bribes into friendship. While normalcy was never listed as one of her special skills, Caribbean life may indeed be responsible for new levels of madness. She attributes at least a smidge of her insanity to the amount of time she spends talking to drunk people.
If you’re somehow still reading this and feel inclined to find out more about this “Chrissann” of which we speak, you can also take a gander at her eponymous website or follow her daily escapades on Instagram @womanonarock.
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