Maybe it’s because I’m twenty-eight next month and comfortable enough with myself that I dont find it hard to say I’m in on a Saturday night and not feel like one of those people. Or maybe it’s because I’m in Seattle where there is, in fact, nothing to do on a Saturday night. And if there were, everyone would be home by now, anyway.
I spent most of the evening catching up on email, all 52 people written back. Except for him. I don’t know why.
Things are quiet. I hesitate to say ‘sweet’ as I fear looking like a girl. But they are. I’m spending my time this weekend recuperating from the last week and gearing up all the work I need to do come Monday, and the trip I have to take come Friday.
For now, it’s just me and a Saturday night.