I make plans for my days off. Grand ones. Glamorous plans clad in adult responsiblity and a sense of accomplishment.
Plans that are a house of lies with window dressings made of self deceit.
When I look at my schedule and locate which of the two days in the week I have off I begin to tell myself a load of bullshit right off the bat.
“Oh, I have Monday off! How nice. I’ll do all of the laundry and scrub the pasta sauce off of the linoleum in the kitchen. I’ll complete a novella and paint, then perhaps in the evening, throw a dinner party where I will cook a pheasant stuffed with honeyed mice in a white truffle sauce. The dinner party will also give me the opportunity to wear the satin evening gown I’m planning on stitching at some time around 11 AM.”
I think all of this with the utmost confidence that I will perform every chore known to man and complete every creative pursuit in a single day. Of course I will. After all, I’m a grown woman. I do grown woman things like go to the grocery store and get the big super size toilet paper package so that I can go another month and a half with out shredding paper towels so that they don’t clog the pipes…
So I work the days leading up to my day off contented in my goal setting.
The day off rolls around and I wake up at 6 AM. This is partly because I’m super responsible and also because if you drink a lot the night before you’ll wake up super early for some stupid reason. Scientists are really lagging in coming up with an explanation for that one.
I lay in bed and congratulate myself. I’m up early! So early in fact that I can goof off for an hour or so before my intense day of doing stuff begins!
I decide to read for that hour in bed with the electric blanket on high. But it’s warm and reading makes me sleepy so I just shut my eyes for a minute…
…And wake up at 10. Whoopsie! Well, it’s ok. It’s not too late. I can still do all of the chores. So I roll over to get out of bed but when I do that I inadvertently roll over into the most comfortable laying down position I have ever experienced.
It seems like a shame to waste it so I just close my eyes for a couple more minutes…
And wake up at 12:43. At this point reality begins to set in. I’m ruining my day spent in responsible maturity. Did the laundry really need to get done? Do I even have any underwear left? I can just wash them in the sink I suppose. The pasta sauce on the floor has already hardened, it’s not going anywhere.
I decide to just masturbate and then walk to the burrito place.
I just do the masturbation part and fall asleep again.
Waking up at 2 in the afternoon I panic. The burrito place is too far! I do have to wash my underwear! I have to at least do that! I spring out of bed and order chinese food while shoveling clothes into the laundry basket. I had gotten ahead of myself and invited all of my girlfriend over for a demure and sophisticated dinner and they will be arriving in three hours.
I burn through the house trying to make it look like a normal person lives there and not a wolverine. I throw the detritus on my floor under my comforter and arrange the pillows artfully. I pick up all of the receipts and beer cans and vacume hastily. I realize the kitchen is a mess but I just don’t have the energy.
I’m pulling my hot clean underwear from the dryer mournfully when the first of my friends arrives at the door. In the mad dash between letting her in and stowing my unmentionables everyone else arrives and I dart up and down the stairs. Most of the books have been cleared off of the sofa and I’ve lit a tea light in an effort to appear genteel.
We all sit down at the coffee table to enjoy a meal of chow mein served on pairs of my flip flops because all of the dishes are dirty.
My friend, Chloe, gets up to use the restroom. She leans out of the door.
“Do you have any toilet paper left?” She asks.
“I slurp a noodle “Nope. Just use the paper towels that are in the bathtub. Oh, but make sure you tear it into strips or it’ll clog.”
She ducked back in.
“Next time.” I tell myself at the bathroom door shuts. “Next time I’ll have real toilet paper before people come over. Next time I’ll make sure all of my bras aren’t on the back of the sofa. Next time I’ll make sure all of the dishes are done. Next time I’ll make that Venus sculpture out of foi gras like I’ve been meaning too.”
“Next time I have a day off I’ll get it right.”