It's Friday night, it's First Friday and the streets are packed with teenagers trying to get wasted off of cappuccino sized plastic cups of free wine being passed out in the galleries that stay open on First Friday. I forgot it was First Friday until I got about a block away from home and ran into a blockage of aimless teens in skinny jeans (girls and guys), obnoxious eyeglass frames, scarves, and more obnoxious headgear. The week is done, Ashley is gone, and I've got that aimless feeling, the kind that ends up calling someone I shouldn't call or indulging a conversation I shouldn't have with the same person I should not have called. I didn't like WBB but I sure wish I had this luxury of time when we were dating. I hate that all I have on tap is picking up poop, doing laundry, and watching my DVR'd shows. Oh, and figuring out what I'm going to eat. I think I might be a suffering junkie. That I'm that woman from the Flannery O'Conner story, "she'd a been a good woman had there been someone there to shoot her every minute of her life."
When I come home most nights, the TV is on, Ashley is posted on the couch and Baloo has not been fed. I sigh while Judge Joe Brown clowns or Judge Judy berates and feed the dog and look for something to eat, walk the dog, retreat to my room, and fall asleep. I had forgotten this routine. This aimless feeling. I thought, yay, I can talk on the phone (no one is around), I can invite WBB over (we're not dating anymore), I can go out with girlfriends (out of town). I will find myself eventually tonight and it will be fine, maybe even better than fine. But I'm thinking right now, I finally have time and time has nothing for me. Why must you be like that time? Why?
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