My other eye cracked open yesterday morning at 4:57 am, right before the alarm normally makes that horrible noise. The little red light that indicates the alarm is set was not lit. Both eyes sprang open.
"Shit!"
I jumped out of bed and flung myself to the shower in the panic that follows nearly over sleeping. It was in the accelerated tooth-brushing phase of my morning toilet that I realized it was Saturday. Not only was it Saturday, it was a long holiday weekend.
"Shit."
I grumbled as I stumbled, freshly showered, back to bed. I have no place to be until Tuesday, I thought as I settled in for a little more shut eye. A long weekend with nothing to do... How sweet. Oh, I know that isn't exactly true. There are plenty of things for me to do, just none that appeal to me.
Saturday turned to Sunday with the list of things I've accomplished ending up shorter than the list of things I've screwed off. I decided that instead of chastising myself for being a bum, I should revel in my proactive slacking. I'm not goofing off, I'm actively avoiding productivity. If I had a couch long enough, I would nap like Dagwood Bumstead. I take satisfaction in the knowledge that my behavior would rankle any self respecting missus with a honey-do list. I belch loudly and scratch my plums. My time is my own. Nice.
What do you want to blow off today?
My novel?
I lack inspiration. One morning I got up to find that I left the cage door open and my muse was gone. I can't afford an Inspiration Broker, (not even if I pay the pound of flesh in three easy installments.) No, the novel can sit and simmer on the back burner for a time. I seem to be fresh out of happy endings, or middles or even beginnings.
Laundry?
It's a long weekend I still have the rest of Sunday and Monday. Besides, I have to wear clothes this weekend right? Why not do laundry Monday and be caught up for the week? Ah, logic! You never fail me. Besides, laundry would require a trip to scrounge a roll of quarters somewhere, rounding up and sorting laundry, then a trip to the laundry room for the actual washing and drying thereof. Plus there's the folding and hanging to do later. And if I'm doing laundry I might as well wash dishes and clean the bathtub. Of course that leads to vacuuming and other assorted housekeeping activities. Who wants to open that can of worms? I'm worn out just thinking about it. I will defiantly save laundry for Monday.
I could draw or paint... Oh wait, all that stuff is packed in a box at Racer X's secret hideaway.
I could call a friend. Yeah right. I'm such the social butterfly. I'm more likely to peer through drawn blinds muttering about whatever "They" might be up to, than to impose my company on some poor unsuspecting soul who didn't have me penciled in for today.
I settle on watching TV, the most passive conscious activity I can think of. Now understand, Old Tehuti doesn't so much have a TV proper. To watch the news I have to get Shempbot to sit in a chair holding his arms just so and look me in the eye for half an hour. Before you know it he is slouched over with his arms dangling at his sides and I'm forced to watch a snowy Spongebob Squarepants with no sound.
"Dammit Shempbot! I said FOX. Hold your left claw at two o'clock and sit up straight!"
Wait a second... PBS has a special on the Blue Footed Booby. How does that dance go? Left foot up. Then the right. Left again and throw your beak back. I'll have to remember that and file it away with the Grackle Dance and the Dance of Enticement in case interspecies dating ever becomes acceptable.
I have Shempbot run the channels, which is amusing in itself since it looks like he's doing Tia-Chi. Right there, Shempbot-- Monkey Steals The Peach.
The Sunday news shows are rehashing the RNC:
"some may have noticed a certain swagger... In Texas we call that, 'walking.'" (And the old, rich, white people cheer.)
A panel of talking heads spews haughty political analysis all over the newsroom.
"Bush is eleven points ahead of Kerry in the polls."
"But there is a lot of air in those numbers."
"But the Repudnutkins did a better job of getting the balloons to fall than the Democraps did at their convention."
"Kerry windsurfing is un-good, but Arnold's economic girlie-men Schick is double-plus good."
"I bet fourteen Quatloos on the newcomer."
By this time Shempbot I tired of holding all five of his arms in the air like a pentecostal at a revival, so I'm forced to find some other way to spend my remaining Sunday hours. I've decided that this life of leisure makes me nervous and restless. I've got to find something productive to do. It is afternoon already, and before you know it, I will be headed off to bed early just like the other old folks. I still have a good full day all to myself tomorrow. I think I'll sleep late--
At least until 4:58.
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