Weakend

2002-05-20 - 8:56 a.m.

Saturday night: Showed up what should have been fashionably late to a party that everyone else was fashionably later to. Drinks fast, mingles little, an obnoxious exit and back home to bed.

Sunday morning: Too flippin' early to wake up on a rainy day with Coconut Rum Headache. I'm grumbling, my tummy is grumbling, my head is grumbling. Make it to the city in time to see the Running of the Bullshit (Bay to Breakers). I'm philosophically opposed to running unless something terrible is chasing you. Somewhere in a mass of naked men with shrinky-dinks, costumed knuckleheads, corporate ad teams, serious athletes, and average Joes was an old friend testing herself. She passed us, she passed the test. Back home to bed.

Sunday afternoon: Television. Dr. Jane makes a housecall. Back to bed.

Sunday night: Repeat Sunday afternoon.

I don't want my Sundays to be sunny and beautiful. All I want from Sundays is overcast rainy drear, so I don't feel compelled to give up my day of rest for adventures. Nothing better suits one for braving Monday than armor of a Sunday well slept.