A trip to the zoo. An ice cream cone. Saturday, Sunday mornings in bed. Langorous bouts of coffee drinking. Still life with backyard. A book in hand. A talk. A friend. A taste of freedom. A partridge and a pear tree. A dizzying orgasmarific fun fest.
Oh fellow boring sufferers, why do we never learn? Why must we continually ache for those things which are mere ephemera? Because hope springs eternal, or more likely, we blissfully, willingly fall prey to our short-term memory? Alas it is too much to bear.
To cope with the ever eluding weekend, the weekend that passes in a hazy, unsatisfying blink I suggest an antidote. Plan a horrid weekend. One filled with a distinct lack of promise. Trips to the DMV if you can. Purposefully cold and congealed oatmeal. A painful lack of caffeine. Certainly narry a cocktail, nor an herbal hour in sight. Deprivation and the maintenance of longing: let them become the order of your weekend. Your King Deprevation and Your Queen Unrequited Longing in the Kingdom of Unsoftened Sorrow.
Cold baths. No friends. Stale cereal. Taxes. Dusting. Broom closet organization. Removal of corns and other pesky calluses. David Lynch's Eraser Head. Nietzsche auf Deutsch. Telephone calls to an insurance company . . .
In adhering to the tone immediately above one can ensure an escape from the delusional, hazardous weekend ephemera so commonly found among the more gullible, the pitiably soft among us. Time to stand straight and tend to the sock drawer!
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