Weekend Worrier (Capacity Pt. 5)
It’s Saturday which doesn’t mean a whole lot to lots of folks but I’ve finally reached a point in my life where I don’t have to work weekends anymore. That’s a good enough thing, I think. I wanted it. I pushed for it but I don’t really know why. What am I supposed to do with all this time off? What are the options for wasting time. For killing time? For moving ahead in the action? What’s a weekend but a commercial break? It’s an ad. It’s not the product, the purchase, the end. It’s the means. No, listen to me. Let me put it this way . . . No, never mind I don’t want to talk about economics right now but capitalism. Ok. Now, I’m really done.
But, back to the beginning where I started this, it’s Saturday night. I like to drink. It’s what I do. It’s not a habit or a hobby, it’s a way of being. My worldview is shaped by it. Actually not so much the drinking as the going out to drink. I like bars. I live for the wood and the stools. For the din of words too far away to hear and to hear the memories of those in nearest proximity. To actually become the setting of another’s story. It’s what I do when I can. When I’m not the talker myself. When I haven’t tripped my manic switch.
Some days I just can’t sit still and admittedly, I can’t shut my mouth. I enjoy those times but I know how it affects those closest to me. Not emotionally closest to me just physically closest. I don’t even know who’s emotionally closest to me. Maybe nobody is. Damn, and now I’m getting sort of sappy if not sad.
Dear god, when is it going to be Monday already? I’m ready to return to the fold.