Run Away With Me (ugh)

I had some meaningful things to get on here and talk about, but I can only remember one at the moment... maybe the other will come to me as I type.

I watched 'Stardust' today. Haha. The only other time I watched it was in Spanish... as good as my Spanish may be (read: may have been at the time), it is still hard to follow the colloquialisms, you know? Anyway, it was a lot more meaningful in English. And it made me feel sappy, which is sad. I want a star to fall out of the sky--what the hell? And, for that matter, I want a developed plot line and the uncertainty of how I get to the end but an assurance that I remember exactly what the end looks like and that I will get there because I've already seen it... just in a different language. I'm not even gonna try to fix that sentence. I'm tired.

Which got me to thinking about another idea I was seriously considering earlier this week. I was staring at my computer screen at work, and then I remembered being in the French countryside... riding my bike to the baker in the morning to pick up baguette... the stone fence surrounding the house... the chateaux along the Charente (I think?)... the narrow, stone roads... the abandoned monastery...

I want to be a baker in France... or Switzerland... The problem is that I don't speak French or German. So maybe Spain? But then how would the mechanics of it all work to get me out there, you know? I mean, there's getting the plane tickets, getting out there and having enough money to either start renting an apartment or live in a youth hostel, getting a job, getting on my feet enough to support myself, getting the paperwork to have the ability to legally work there. I would be an apprentice to a baker--waking up early in the morning, seeing the immediate benefit of my product to its consumers... I really wouldn't have much money at all, but life would be sincere and grounded, quiet and unimpressive but fulfilling. The whole thing would be an adventure.

And spending my life in the countryside of some (Spanish-speaking) European town would inevitably set my life on a course for lifelong joy and happiness, fulfilled dreams...

right...

The funny thing is that I'm captivated by the idea. It is completely unrealistic. Captivating.

Too many daydreams. What about the ranch-style house on the East coast? The white towel and the early morning?

On a happier note, I totally called the market. Lucky? Maybe. I could get tens of millions for that. Maybe I'll shoot for a few good calls and then go apprentice a baker...

Or maybe I'll keep telling myself that for a handful of decades before I die.

Hoping and Leaping--what did I tell you? But I'm not ready to take some of those leaps.