Guess what? It's Friday and this means virtually nothing to me other than the fact that my alarm won't go off at 5:50 am for the next two days. And I don't have to find the short people matching socks. That might be the highlight of my weekends.... I hate folding socks so we have a sock basket in which we rummage through each and every day. It is my own little piece of self inflicted anarchy.
So what else does Friday not mean?
It doesn't mean I'm "going out."- Long gone are the days when I start planning my Friday nights on Monday, explore all my options on Tuesday and Wednesday and spend Thursday and Friday Day discussing who will ride with whom, what time we're going and who we don't want to know about our plans. Gone are the days of the bar scene. Unless there are oodles and oodles of family and friends in which I can freely move in and out of conversations between groups and levels of sobriety, bars bore me. If I want to sit and have drinks with 4-6 friends, I'd much rather sit in someone's garage or basement without overly loud music and overpriced drinks that come with the bar scene.
It doesn't mean a break form the work week- A nice part of my illustrious career as a portable sanitation worker is there is very little work this time of year. No "it's been a long week" or "Yay! I don't have to deal with Frannie, the annoying chick in the cubical next to me" for this girlie.
It doesn't mean a weekend's worth of youth sports and playdates- Let's face it, I'm not a "joiner" and I don't encourage my children to be. In fact, I say no to all that. Weekends are meant for laziness and family togetherness in my mind. I just can't see adding more miles to and fro in a vehicle and added stress of more short people in my household.
So what does Friday mean to me? Nothing and everything all at the same time. No plans, just time with the famn-damily. Perrrrfect......
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