Friday Night Fright!

My eyes become heavy. My limbs become cold. My head starts to get that fuzzy feeling, and my breathing becomes slow and difficult. It’s a reaction. A bad one, to be sure. Not quite a panic attack, not quite a tantrum…because there is an element of acceptance in it. There is an element of defeat and self-loathing because I’ve done it AGAIN. I have agreed to go out on a Friday night.

I don't really like going out on Friday nights.

That’s right! I said it! I have kept this secret for fear of derision and judgment. Judged as this loser who likes to snuggle up on the couch in sweats watching movies or catching up on TiVo because they have no friends and no significant other.

Well so be it. I LIKE movies and my TiVo is backed up for miles. I'm behind on The Good Wife and Modern Family. Also, umm...I ADORE sweats. And I have friends! A significant other? Uh...the Lord has not yet seen fit to umm...don't worry about that! That's SO not the issue. We’ve all heard the cautionary tale of the single girl, alone and dateless on Friday night, but truth be told, I don’t think I have ever felt depressed regarding a Friday night in. 

Caveat 1: Saturday is different. If no one calls, texts, e-mails or otherwise tries to contact me on a Saturday, I feel like a social pariah. Friday serves its purpose, but Saturday is for partying. If there's no party, my eyes well up with crocodile tears and pastors may need to be contacted.

Caveat 2: Likewise, on Sunday afternoons, if no one hits me up for brunch and a movie, tears gather at the corners of my eyes. If Sunday isn't met with eggs benedict, or a sushi dinner with friends, or at least a long walk (not in the winter...never in the winter), then really...it's just laundry day. And that is super demoralizing. 

But on Friday…if the phone rings, if g-chat lights up orange, or a chain e-mail graces my inbox…I get a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach as a realization hits me: the Friday night I had dreamed of is dead. Deader than a doornail (bah humbug).

Perhaps saying that I "dream" up a certain Friday night is misleading. It's more that that. On Friday’s I sit at my desk, in my cold office, in Arlington , VA and I fantasize of sleeping. I dream of going home, throwing off the work clothes that so easily beset me, sinking my body into soft high thread-count sheets, curling rapturously beneath warm blankets and letting my mind empty of worry…empty of meaning as I drift into perfect naptime. I know you may be thinking: Girl…you have seriously over-romanticized a nap. NO! This is real to me.  Some people dream of Mr. Right. If you’re an accountant, you dream of sleep. On Friday’s when someone invites me out, my mind says yes, but my body screams no. It’s like a secular war between spirit and flesh. Sad. But all I want is naptime. And when I wake up...at say 1 or 2 am, I then watch TV, play on the internet, watch movies, and amuse myself until the sun is up because I CAN. All that dissipates with a dinner in D.C., or ice skating at the sculpture garden, or a night of dancing. 

Don't get me wrong. Once, I'm doing the aforementioned things...I'm having a ball. But you can't get the Friday back. You can't reclaim lost sleep, and TiVo just gets more backed up. Stop asking me out? Please don't. But please know what that hesitation and trepidation is before I give in. That's me hearing the "che che che che, ha ha ha ha" of Jason coming to murder my Friday.  

Side note: Isn't that little picture so cute?...Jason can't kill anyone because it's the 12th and not the 13th! Hilarious!

That is all. Now, I'm heading out to dinner. Ciao!