Its the end of another work week... when corporate lemmings all sigh in unison relief that we don't have to see each other again for a full 48 hours. There are the greetings of "Happy Friday" to go along with the obligitory "any plans for the weekend?" as the substitute go- to question of the rest of the week - "whats at the deli today?" or "have you been outside? has a metor struck us into the dark ages and I missed it due to a meeting running late?"
And I am here a bit later than everyone since I can't manage to get out of the house or over the four mile treak to the office in a reasonable enough time to let my conscience let me leave this huge stack of stuff until Monday when I KNOW I wasn't even in the building until 1/2 hour after my time card reports. Yeah, poor me - all the bosses get in later than me and leave before me and I am stuck with this new work ethic that won't let me subit myself to procrastinated torture. In fact it is the mental picture of this three foot stack - one of ten to complete the project - that kept me in bed late all this week... it started as a motivation tactic actually; "you know you don't want to stay late to get through that, you should just get up right this second and get there on time so you can leave with everyone else at the end of the day" my personal Jimmeny Cricket chirps into my pillow covered ear. And I see it in projected against my eyelids and wonder what I am wearing when I plow through todays number series. And as I plan for a skirt I try to remember if that means I have to shave or not. And as I slap the alarm for interupting my thoughts with another blasting of its repetitious beep I roll over and find that perfect curl of the pillow to dig my face into. I am now perfectly set to Think I am getting ready for work while my body remains basically sleeping.
Yeah, so its Friday night and the maids will be coming soon and I have just entered the second half of the decade of Twentysomething and the only thing on the agenda tonight is Tivo, laundry, and margaritas or wine, depending if I want to swill the intoxicants of my influence on the house or my roomies'. While there was a time it sounded indulgent to be home alone with no plans on such a notoriously opportune night, I am faced with the fact that I regularly have no plans for the evening and it really makes no difference to me what day of the week it is - I'm still home alone with Tivo, margaritas or wine, and laundry to do. While it is true that in the not so distant past I had an opportunity to get a call to go out (maybe even a days notice even!!), that phase has apparently passed as he hasn't returned any communication of mine said last said eventful evening and curtly stated that the last time it was a bit out of his budget. Not my fault (though I have learned not to reach for my wallet due to strict training of his) that he invited me out and turned it into an official date... but alas, I suffer the consequences.
Now the tempation. Do I cruise my new town in the last hour of daylight so I don't look like a total newcomer when I drive up to a club and don't know where the parking lot is; accept that laundry is a part of life and I have avoided it long enough; convince myself the dogs need my attention and time spent on the couch is Quality Time; or something really novel like dive into a hobby or three I have neglected myself since the Year of the Move-Every-Three-Months.
Somehow picking tonights plans has floated me into the riptide thought current of 'what you do daily is what your life ends up reflecting'. Damn quote of the days seem so poignent and perfect at the beginning of the day but when they flood you with sage wisdom when facing gluttonous laziness it just makes it no fun to get trashed on the couch on a Friday. Maybe a two shots and a beer chaser will shut all those yammering quotables up so I can enjoy some TV drama with fast forwarded commercials =)