I’m anxiously awaiting the weekend, like I have been for most of the week. This is the first Saturday in a long time when I don’t have plans. Like a kid with a Christmas list, I’m already thinking about things I want to do.
I’ve already ruled out going places. I will be passing on hoppy yoga (yoga+beer before noon), passing on the beach, passing on the Feminist film at Che Café. All of those things sound amazing, and if this were not my first free Saturday in a month, I’d probably go to at least one.
I’m hoping to clean my apartment, mostly. Papers have begun to pile up in odd corners, shoved to the side in order to eat a quick meal or sit on the couch. Piles have been combined with other piles, leading to chaos.
I’d like to clean, and make an actual grocery list instead of just running out for more spaghetti and beer every time we’re out of food (which has been often because I’ve only been going to the grocery store for spaghetti and beer… and cheezits and cookies). I’m fantasizing about casserole and bread and banana nut muffins.
I’d like to go for a run with the Boy, and maybe read a new book (or return some books to the library before I am fined). I’d like to write, and organize the piles of papers mentioned above, mostly piles of my disorganized writing. One day (hopefully not Saturday), I dream of going to Target and getting a binder to actual contain my creative miscellany.
I’m not sure how time manages to slip away. After all, as I keep reminding myself and everyone else, I am only partially employed. I should have plenty of time for things like cleaning and cooking. But still, I end up eating spaghetti for three meals straight and sitting between piles of papers with no idea where to put them. This weekend, I hope to catch up and refresh, maybe find the pile of papers where I left my brain.