Saturdays

It's going to be warm today - most likely, about 55 degrees. The forecast is for colder days ahead, so I feel like I have to take advantage of the opportunity to feel the sun's warmth outdoors.

This meshes well with my innate protestant lust for The Saturday of Accomplishment. My Saturday fantasy involves rising early at 7am, enjoying a small bowl of granola and yogurt, a cup of fresh coffee, followed by a walk to the grocery store. At this point, it's about 9am. Some Saturdays, I can industriously follow my to do list and catch up on errands, and maybe some housecleaning. That takes me through to 11am. And this is where things start to go wrong. What to do now?

I go to the cafe down the street. Sometimes, I can commandeer a tiny round table and chair, and drink cup of coffee #2 (savoring the burnt, oxidized beverage) while I read blogs. Most of the time, I walk in the door, scan the SRO crowd, order a cup and walk out. This is a good thing, right? I love the neighborhood and it's a good day for a walk. Skip ahead another 45 minutes, and that activity has run its course. Generally, by 1pm, the promise of Saturday is gone.

This is the problem: Saturday is the greatest day of all, but it's also the greatest disappointment. I used to watch Food Network in the afternoon, or the how-to block on PBS, but that has lost its charm. So here I am, at 1:30pm on a Saturday afternoon, doing nothing except writing about doing nothing. And this is the thing about Saturdays - by 6pm, there's the promise of the evening: drinks and dinner with friends, perhaps a movie, perhaps a club.

Saturday starts beautifully and ends brilliantly. But 1-6pm is a bitch.