Viva La Siesta.

They say that a snake sheds its skin four to eight times a year. They also say that you have completely different cells now, than you did some time ago (exact timing I can't quite remember). As I research pesto recipes online I am beginning to realize the truth in what "they say." Granted, I am no snake, boa constrictor or other species, but in certain ways, ways that are certainly more important than skin, I feel like a completely different person than I did...some time ago.
It may all just be a consequence of my environment, though I can't help but feel that there's been a shift leading me toward home made salsas and a new-found interest in the gadgets of Crate & Barrel. Band t-shirts now go under button downs and over dark wash jeans, instead of year-round faded cords. Surface examples, sure, but for the first time that I can remember, I found inspiration in the morning, inspired enough to do something about it, not just sleepily enjoying the sunrise.
Every Wednesday I wake up for work around 6am, a time that I used to think was reserved for high schoolers and those who work the elusive "9-5." But this morning in particular, I opened one of my sets of blinds, allowing in a sun that has just recently began to wake up with me on these mid-week mornings. Everything from the frigid floorboards to my bagle warming in the steam from my shower (me being too lazy to plop it in the oven while I wash my hair) brought some amount joy to an already above average morning.
The day continued on, but I kept coming back to the morning, not wondering why it was so good, but merely wondering how I could repeat it as often as possible (still not fully understanding why it was so good to begin with.) Thinking about such things is not foreign to me, but it still felt different. I understand that the same thought processes feels different when more life experiences are behind them, but understanding something, and experiencing it with that understanding in mind, are two totally different things.
My hands are dry, and cracked with white lines from a day of cardboard and paper. I begin to understand a mid-afternoon pleasure that's been foreign to me, as school was often followed by work, and I could never embrace a proper nap in high school or college. It appears that now, in my twenty-third year (soon to be twenty-four), the nap and I are going to draw closer, from aquantinces to lovers in a matter of months I'm sure.