All times are strange, but some days of the week are stranger than others. All of Sunday is strange, both the morning, the blank afternoon and the evening. I think that Sundays feel like the end of the world. Fridays, there's another weird day. Right from the beginning, the little kick: ooh, it's Friday today. The afternoon lags a bit but everybody is cheerful. Exceptions are made, because it's a Friday and everybody wants to go home. Then the late afternoons/early evenings, when it seems that time stretches on forever. I love those late afternoons.
But now it is ten to seven. The play that I wanted to see was booked out. None of my flatmates are home, none of the ones I want to talk to at least. I have some movies on my hard drive, and some rhubarb in the fridge. I could make crumble. I could go to the supermarket and get some wine and something from the video shop (it's half-price on TV shows today). I guess I could go downtown and celebrate Friday in true style. Or I could do something more productive, work on some of the things I've been planning that never seem to happen. Nothing happened at all in the holidays. Four seasons of Doctor Who happened instead.
Is this how the world is lost?
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1 comment:
I looked for you at Vic Books but you weren't there, or I would've made you come hang out at the bar with the rest of the women's group. I discovered I am quite keen on cider. Also it is more fun to hang out than to work on my assignments, but no surprise there.
Rhubarb crumble sounds delicious, I hope you do it.
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