Oh boy, Friday night.

Yes!

Waited all week for this.

5 o’clock!

Headed out of the office, with a smile on my face and a spring in my step.

Now what?

I really don’t have any plans.

Might as well stop for a beer or two and meet the regulars at the bar.

The bar crowd orders a shot and a beer and they are on their way home.

After all, it is the weekend.

Yes, the weekend.

Then why do I suddenly feel tired?

I can’t wait to get home, and into my pajamas.

Friday nights are not what they used to be.

The weekend party animal needs her beauty rest.

It’s been a tumultuous week.

730pm and the Chicken Butt is too pooped to pop.

I wonder if this is an age thing.

Looking back on my life, I finally realize that Friday nights have always been like this.

It is a night to crash.

To rest.

To rejuvenate.

To adjust to the non working life, without an alarm clock, for 2 days.

But it seems that it is the only night I go to bed early.

The cat goes out.

Oh great.

As I open the door, I say, “Hey, you better make it snappy.  This old gal is tired.”

I head in to bed.

No cat.

I am jolted awake several times in the next few hours, getting up and looking for the cat.

No cat.

It’s Saturday morning.  5am.

No cat.

Should I or shouldn’t I stay up?

2 hours later, I hear, “Oh Wow!” at the door.

The cat.

I am on my 3rd cup of coffee.

I am a mess.

I feed the cat.

He goes to bed.

In my spot.

Laughing, I sing that old song, “Oh what a night.”

And so it goes.

On Monday, I will start the weekly count down, asking the age old question,

“Is it Friday yet?”

 

Wolf

 

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