Saturday nights are funny. They expect things of you. They expect that you cavort and frolic with those similar to your kind, and don’t forget to thank the little people when all is said and done.
Yet, here I am, at home, not feeling particularly blue, but not feeling particularly sunny either. It’s true, I had some sort of pre-apocalyptic-ozone-caffeinated-dehydrated-artificially sweetened hypoglycemic spell before dinner, but that wasn’t the real reason I changed into my pajamas pronto, slurped up my dinner, and searched for instant at-home entertainment gratification. The real reason is I had no other plans.
A failed rendezvous (the usual). A book (finish date TBA). Several messages left on voicemail for several otherwise occupied parties. And it’s back to the party in my head. But most of the guests are too busy picking through the cheese balls to give any attention to the hostess. She wonders why she had this party in the first place.
Ah yes, to help her parents program their VCR/DVD (the inevitable product of the evening). And then there’s the music in the back of her head. Who hired this DJ? He’s depressing and mellow. When all is said and done, strangely at peace knowing the situation is just a situation, and how I feel is merely a side effect to the actual main.
Or is it? One can never tell with such moods. The whole am I looking in the mirror or is the mirror looking at me? passive melancholic drama all over again. I know where I want to be, but wonder if that place exists or if I dreamed it.