Committed

I am getting up tomorrow morning at 6am.







I wanted to leave that up there all by itself because it looks and sounds more official that way, like someone announced it over a P.A. system.  

Here's the rub: getting up at 6am is like getting up at 3am for me because even though I live geographically on Eastern Standard Time I live my life on Pacific Standard Time.  It has to do with Trey's work and my life choices and a the smallest bit to do with my laziness.

All that to say, I am going to the farmer's market tomorrow morning and I'm getting there when it opens at 7.  I'm going to go to the farmer's market (I know I just repeated myself. I'm trying to convince my own self of my seriousness about going to the farmer's market.  At 7am.) and I'm going to pretend I'm in Provence, France.  I'm going to buy flowers, a plant, some produce and hopefully the honey lady will be there.  A different honey lady than last time, because the honey I bought from the other honey lady tasted like crushed up vitamins. I know this is probably due to my severely under developed palate. To a more refined connoisseur, it probably tasted like... crushed up vitamins.  Ok, I'm not gonna give on that one.  The lady sold me some seriously funk honey.  

Anyway, I'm doing this partly because I really do wish I was waking up in the morning and going to a beautiful open air market in France.  I somehow think I'd be more inspired to cook amazing things and make my life beautiful.  I'm also doing this because sometimes when you've lived somewhere for a long time, you grow immune to the beauty that is right in front of you.  So my little way of trying to see my own little world with new wonder and appreciation is to pretend I'm waking up in Provence.  I will amble non-chalantly and say ooh la la just for authenticity.  I understand this is weird.

But I'm committed. Or maybe I should be.  

P.S. I'm waffling.  And its only been one sentence since I said I was committed.  I wonder if someone can wonder at beauty at the ungodly hour of 7am?  Ok, before it becomes painfully obvious that the whole laziness thing is more than a small part of the reason I live my life on PST, I'm going to bed.  Its only 9pm PST.  I can do this. Provence, France saturday market, here I come.

P.S.S. Yep, I definitely should be committed.