Ode to a quiet weekend.

Ah Saturday,
You landed on my lap like large tabby cat,
Waiting for its chin to be stroked,
Purring in satisfaction, body limp in ecstasy.
Stillness. Absolutely still.
Except for the occasional yawn.
Ah Saturday,
Curse the DVD player!
For it has made me one with couch,
Embedded within its soft crevices,
Enveloping my every fibre with its skin.
Tim Tams, within reach.
One, two and soon, I have engulfed them.
As much as they have engulfed me.
The moon rises but I do not.
I escape into a realm of assassins,
Wolves, a bastard and a Fool.
Only 196 pages to go…

But, blast, Sunday!
Oh how you have sneaked up upon me.
I dread to think of the nothingness that lies before me.
And yet, I anticipate it like a blood-sucking tick
Awaits its host.
Again I am drawn to the comforts of the couch,
Eyes ablaze as the idiot box challenges me to a staring contest.
None the champion, I fear. (But I am the idiot, for that I am sure).
Is that food that beckons me?
Oh Sunday, how you bring purpose to my life once again!
Fulfilled I am. Fulfilled to the core.
But my Tim Tams are no more.
And so I retrieve to my feline, who stares at me, glares at me.
For there are bowls to be filled and crap to be cleaned.
Ah the travesty of my so-called existence…
Is this where my destiny lies?
“Meow,” says he. I sigh. Perhaps he is right.
The phone rings. I talk. We talk.
Of nothings and know-hows.
Of Saturdays and Sundays.
Of how next weekend shall bear more fruits.

And in the distance…
The world decides to shit on me,
And lo, Monday.

"I can't stand to fly. I'm not that naive. I'm just trying to find. The better part of me..."
-Superman, Five for Fighting.