Saturdays

Saturdays are always the quiet day of the weekend for me. I might get one phone call, but there have been many Saturdays where I have not uttered a word to one human being. On this long weekend, I feel I should take advantage of the great weather and have more frolicsome fun, get more accomplished, do something to celebrate the advent of summer...but here I am, on a Saturday night, and like last night, I am contemplating my newly-arrived Ikea storage boxes and mentally reconfiguring my apartment for the 7,426th time. I am alone, and, for the most part, have resolved to enjoy this solitude...but right now I'd love to have one of my buddies call me up to grab beers at Dublin or The Room or somewhere cool in the east village and get the hell outta this 250 square foot design nightmare. The only movie I was remotely in the mood to see by myself tonight was Baby Mama, and that is not worth the trek to 72nd and Third on a bus, because the subway line by me has conveniently decided to run only express the entire weekend. My stomach is rumbling, and I will order food if I can charge it -no cash on me - and I will see what movies are on HBO. If there was someone here to share with me, it might be a cozy night, away from the annoying bus-and-tunnel crowds that take over the city on Saturdays. I am thinking now that this quiet evening will be good...I'll get to bed early, sans alcohols, wake up early, sans hangover, and go for a run in the park - something I've started just today. Then, perhaps, I'll venture to Coney Island and take photographs, eat a corn dog, and ride the Cyclone.

Maybe I am destined to be a solitary human observing the other humans and recording their foibles for others' amusement and enlightenment. There are worse things. Much, much worse.