The Weekend Begins


After much thought and deliberation last night – you know – a few seconds worth – I have decided to stop writing draft blog posts in a text editor and storing them in a ridiculous obsessive compulsive storage system. This will of course have no impact on you as a reader, so I don’t know why I’m telling you – and god forbid I write an interminably boring post about how I write my blog posts. I guess this opening paragraph is straying ever so close to that line though, isn’t it – so I better change subject quickly.

You never know though – maybe if I just plaster my thoughts straight into the mighty WordPress, it will be like emptying the fire-hose from my head – which could be argued is the most stupid thing I could possibly do, given the madness that tends to circulate around my poor brain at the best of times. Maybe I just need a little bit of faith in the many, many filters I pass thoughts through before I blurt them out into the world?

So. It’s Saturday morning. Because I worked from home yesterday, it doesn’t feel like Saturday morning at all. The washing machine is rumbling away in the background, there are clothes on the line, the dishwasher has already been emptied, the sink-full of washing up that materialised overnight has been cleared, I’ve had a shower… what other mundane things can I list out to make it sound like I have anything going on in my life at the moment?

We have been invited out this evening to a grown up party in town – for a fiftieth birthday. I will be ironing my suit and a dress shirt later. I might even polish my shoes. There is an event on Facebook for the party, and I’ve been nosing through those attending – thankfully I’ll be able to hide among a circle of good friends. The huge majority of us are those that typically think “but it’s the weekend – I was planning on eating pizza and watching movies – do we HAVE to go out?” – so at least I won’t feel so guilty about thinking that. Of course after having a couple of drinks we’ll all be laughing, and saying to each other “We should do this more often!”. It’s strange how that happens.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go around the house and do that thing that Dads do when the kids are sitting in their pyjamas watching cartoons – rather than ask them to get dressed, I’m going to open the windows and doors “to let some fresh air in”, and then watch them wrinkle up like vampires exposed to sunlight.

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