It felt like it was going to happen. A cool night, crisp, clean sheets and duvet. Limited libations, a glass of merlot, just enough to keep the head and body merely cozy.
I felt a full, lasting night’s sleep lay ahead, my (hopefully) second in a week.
Last minute prep. Do I let the outdoor cat in? Mostly a fuzzy, comforting addition, she curls into exposed skin and purrs joyfully. But she also requires being let back out in the wee hours, (usually the 3:00 to 4:00 a.m. range). No, I wanted to cocoon deeply and undisturbed; she’d camp out tonight. Soon, however, I heard growly caterwauling out of the open window that alerts of danger ahead. A raccoon. Another cat. Rain. Begrudgingly, and knowing I’d be consumed with concern for her safety - we have some mean looking raccoons come ‘round here, the stupid clumsy kind that seem a bit crazy - I acquiesced. In she came and curled up in the crook of my knee and thigh, satiated.
An hour or two later I awake to the familiar sound of wretch. The indoor cat (fuck, I’m a cat lady) set the launch sequence and began to choke and spew, the result of her tissue eating fetish. Cleaned up, curled back up. I didn’t bother to look at the clock.
Just about 3:30 a.m., took the anticipated trip on sore, creaky knees down stairs to let the outdoor cat back out. By then the damp weather felt downright nippley; the overhead fan left on didn’t help. The long slumber would not come. I was too cold, too often awake, my mind now engaged.
So Saturday morning, fresh day ahead. Realized I never simply “waste” a day; I’m always going and planning and doing. The boring, necessary things mostly, picking up groceries for the week, changing out the old fire alarms for the new I bought more than six months ago or running errands. I have a need to tally up points, show results.
Today I chose to lollygag, have no idea where the day will take me. There’s the People’s Fair in one of the cooler urban neighborhoods downtown, tidy and nicely cleaned up, the homeless shipped to Starbucks or the movies for the day to make way for strollers and ‘burb bots. Local music and food and art and people in bad shorts. Although I prefer the cute bungalow neighborhoods on the other side of the highway, where I can actually find a place to park, I’d like to go, maybe. I’d really like to go with someone, chill on the probably wet grass, enjoy a beer and a back rub, listen to music I didn’t know I liked.
Those otherwise spoken for or lucky enough to engage a similar friend with the time and passion to spend a day doing nothing, I envy your Noah’s Ark two-by-two, built-in social network. I know many who’ve grown weary of their routine, the same face in the same bad shorts, and crave excitement of solo play or a fresh companion. Imagine for a moment this Saturday without yours. What would you do? Would you do it alone? A movie, lunch at cute café, just you? Perhaps more observer than participant?
Although I’m guessing some (many) would salivate at the prospect of my lazy no-schedules-no-kids-no-wife-no-girlfriend-anything-can-happen-maybe-I'll-get-laid day ahead, I’ve walked solo streets long enough to confess a hand to hold along the way, ears to share observance in and the joy of taking the passenger seat is hotly desired. So is that back rub in the park.
Oh what lies in the green grass on the other side of the Jones's fence.
So the day begins after another abbreviated night of sleep. I still have no idea what I’ll do with it.
Would be lovely to have the someone to not do it with.