It’s Friday night again, and bored bored bored am I. I now get why people make such an unholy fuss about going out on Friday and Saturday night — when you only get a couple of days to sleep in, you like to take advantage. I used to think people were just like sheep, and they went out on weekends just because everyone else did.
I wasn’t thinking clearly. Or rather, I was thinking like a restaurant worker.
Cooks and waiters go out on Monday nights. Well, actually they go out every night, but that’s another story.
I’m now sufficiently acclimated to the working life that I have more than enough energy to go out at night, too. The first little while, I needed my sleep like heroin. Now I am less of a junkie. I can stay up past my bedtime and still be productive the next day.
But now! Just coming home and having a cup of tea and some quiet time on a Friday night is bumming me out. What’s there to do? I’m a young, professional, culturally hip person! I crave stimulation! And, as my friend Tom used to say to explain why he always went out to bars all the time, all the libraries and museums are closed!
It’s also super windy, which always makes me restless. When I was in grad school, and it was windy like this, I used to go out walking all night long. I had this amazing black duster that flapped around my ankles as I stalked the backroads of Syracuse’s University neighborhood. Then sometimes I’d hitch a ride up to the Inn Complete (the grad students’ clubhouse, kind of) and prowl for hotness.
That’s what I feel like doing right now. Prowling. Like a feline. Thinking predatious thoughts.
Well, I’ve got the wind, and I think I’ve still got the duster, and now I don’t need to bum a ride — I’ve got my own. Maybe I’ll just hit the town on my own. I at least need some fellow human interaction.
Wish I had bought those cowboy boots when I had the money.