  Another Sunday at the Flea market of lurrvveee. Well, no. The more appropriate title would be the flea market of Morning People, the flea market of People Looking for Everything (including the kitchen sink, there�s a sweet little two-basin number across the way from us), or perhaps Flea Market For Those Who Have Nothing Better To Do On A Sunday Morning at 8am.
I was thinking about the phenomena of morning people as we were driving here. I�m convinced they�re a different fricken species. Occasionally in my University days (or was it daze? ) I�d shuffle into the Meal Hall at 7.30am, usually under duress. There were people there I had NEVER seen before. And on a campus of a thousand, that was interesting. The few other times I went I began to recognize them as those people who run at five am on a Saturday. I never see them at any other time of day, always between the hours of 5 to 8. Extraordinary, really.
There�s an entire section of people who are up, awake, and astonishingly, engaging in PHYSICAL ACTIVITY! I wonder sometimes where these people go during normal hours. I suppose work, and school, the farm and suchlike. Maybe they fish. Or maybe, and this thought makes me feel better, they�re in bed. It is now 10.11 in the am, and the place is crawling with fleas, erm, people.
There�s a lady to the left of us selling Canadian geese with sprigs of a pine looking plant, and red berries coming out of its back. Charming. Another chick is selling the toys that come free from Happy Meals, among various other assorted crap. I think she�s selling a bucket of loose legos. This is excitement. Truly. Ok, well, I�m lying, the highlight of my day so far was a geriatric who had troubles with his remote, we discussed, and ascertained that his remote was killing batteries on him too fast.
I told the boss guy about being sick. He admitted that he didn�t understand what it was like, but he�ll help me out. He even said that he�d snap me out of it, which, hey, why not? Drugs haven�t worked, psychotherapy didn�t work, drugs and psychotherapy didn�t work, naturopathic medicine might have worked if I had have kept on the expensive diet and pills the guy had me on, perhaps it is a matter of selling satellites to sooth the soul.
It reminds me of a story that Tom Robbins told in one of his books; I think it was Fierce Invalids Home From Hot Climates. Anyways, the story goes thusly; an Anthropologist goes to a small tribal community somewhere in the vast Third World. The natives liked him so much, they gave him a gift; Invisibility powder. The Anthropologist kept the powder on his mantelpiece; he never even tried it.
The impression the author gave was that the guy was an idiot for not trying the powder. I�m inclined to agree. Sure, one could say that the powder probably wouldn�t work. But what if it did? It doesn�t make sense to me not to try a freely given miracle. It is now 7.15pm. I cleaned the house, clipped puppy and dog nails, and now I�m here, and this is the extent of my excitement. 
