So here I am, on a Sunday, appreciating the fact that I can update my journal from home, without interruption, without fear that at any moment my work computer will go down, just to reboot and find that all of my words are lost. I hate it when that happens. Suddenly, whatever is lost becomes the "best I've EVER written". Easy to say when there's no way to check.

Another long weekend. Friday night I went to a club. I danced, I saw some friends, did some drugs. Partied on into the next morning. I have a love/hate relationship with the sunrise. It's a beautiful thing, but it signifies the end of an event to me. The first appearance of light, like Juliet's sound of the lark, bringing me back from the land of Sybaris (where anything goes in the name of luxury and pleasure) to my world of responsibility and chores; the reality of needing to get things done before another Monday.

But that was only Friday, and I had another two days to put off any chores. Saturday? A lovely manicure, a visit with my therapist/manicurist/confidante/friend. A woman who is very open about the fact that she lives vicariously through me. Late 30's, from somewhere in Middle America, she lives with her elderly mother in an apartment not far from the salon. And the computer, tv, her mother and her little black chihuaha encapsulate her life. It's always nice to see her, though, it's my method of visiting the confessional. I gave up Catholic life when I was no longer forced to attend Catholic school. And now? I still visit a small room, every other Saturday, to confess my sins for an hour and a half. But the delightful difference is that this time, the receiver of my sins laughs and gives me the pleasure of manicured hands in lieu of penance. Sweet deal.

Ah, then what. This seems more like an update entry, which is fine, every now and then we need to update. All of my thoughts this weekend will go into my private home journal. There ARE some things we should keep to ourselves. Anyway, after nails, I came home to crash out, comatose for 3 hours, to be woken up by a phone call, Z, inviting me to dinner. I wasn't going to go out. I was tired. I mean, exhausted. My friend, S is officially moved into my neighborhood as of yesterday, and when she came over last night, I realized that we just had to celebrate. Alright, alright, I knew I'd go out. Saturday night in my life? It's inevitable. I believe now that I am physically incapable of staying in during the weekend.

Went downtown, mellow, wine, people, music, activity all around, smiles, laughter, hugs. It was worth it, even if I stayed for only the hour. Surprised myself, usually I'm the last one standing at any event. Well, can't win 'em all, can we. Got home, hopped on my new addiction, read a lot of poetry online, God, are you bored yet? Chatted on the computer with some people I know and don't know and surprised myself yet again by declining the invitation to continue partying via a 4am phone call. Gotta love those girls.

So here I am. Sunday. Took out the trash. Did the dishes. NEED to do the laundry. Want to read, want to write, want to masturbate a 4th time. Ah, lazy days.

-Barbarella

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