So, it’s Saturday morning here in Ireland, and the sun is peeking through the clouds.
I feel happy.
I find it easier to stay in on Friday nights than any other weekend night for some reason; Saturday nights are a bigger trigger for me. Even though I used to always say it’s better to go out on a Friday night, because then I’d be more or less fully recovered by Monday. In other words, I had no problem wasting my weekend on the couch feeling sorry for myself and trying not to wonder where those missing hours went, and praying (despite not being religious) that I didn’t make a fool of myself last night. The weekends, which I so much looked forward to, wasted entirely by my drinking.
So anyway, Saturday nights are usually more tempting for me. Even Sundays sometimes – who cares about working in the morning, one or two will do no harm! Bed by 11pm (1 am), what else would you be doing. And anyway, I’ve been good all weekend, why should I deprive myself? Look at how much fun everyone else is having (damn Facebook oversharing).
I love Saturday mornings. My head is usually fresh, I wake up early due to my body clock having been set from the past 5 days, and I usually lounge in bed watching stuff on Netflix. Then I potter downstairs and make some tea, and drink it while making breakfast. Today I had granola. Ironically, I’m quite a health and fitness conscious person. But drowning my insides in wine is fine, sigh. I love waking up on a Saturday morning knowing I have the whole weekend ahead of me. I can get lots of stuff done! And often I do! Alas, it’s the stimulation of getting things done that sometimes makes me want to go to the pub for a ‘couple of glasses of wine’. “Look, you have had such a great week, and you got so much done today! You have DO your shit together, why were you doubting yourself?” Sober brain wants me to get things done. Drunk me includes getting shitfaced in the category of “getting shit done”.
Tonight I will not be going out. I’m gonna stay in with my mam and sister and watch a film. They’ll likely be drinking wine, but I’ll resist, I know I can. It would be great to always have somewhere to go on a Saturday night where I know there’ll be nobody drinking, but sadly if I don’t want to be alone in my room then I’ll just have to put up with it. I’m at the age where practically everyone I know is out on a Saturday night. My mam’s drinking kind of disgusts me anyway so it in itself is enough to put me off most of the time.
Anyway, this has become a stream of consciousness. I hadn’t intended to write much; when I began I just wanted to write about how I love Saturdays. Which I do. Well the mornings. As far as the witching hour. Saturday nights are my kryptonite, but that’s okay, at least I recognise it. I don’t feel as happy as I did when I started writing this post. But that’s okay too.