Coldplay oozes from my macbook speakers and the elastic band from my sweat pants is sealed tightly around my rippled stomach; an anaconda halfway through engulfing my bottom half. The extent of my laziness knows no end today. So much so, that if it happened to be a real snake making me his monthly meal, I might just let him.
On any other day this might be cause for distress, but not today. Today is my self-proclaimed, overtly righteous day of rest. My feet are slightly sweaty, though numb with a dull chill. A ukulele sits flat on my desk, waiting patiently for me to work up some sort of musical motivation.
Alas, here flows the entirety of my motivation. It seeps into my illuminated keyboard and into the thin script of this blog. Each word, each sentence, drains my energy and I become so heavy that I can hardly lift my palms from the matte surface of my laptop. Gravity feels much stronger than it did yesterday. Is this a result of my mood or the corndog and fries I just inhaled or maybe a combination of both?
I crack my neck, side to side, then move on to my knuckles, one by one, reveling in the tremendous release of tension. Nothing feels better than that pop in one’s joints after keeping still for too long. I peak out the window over my left shoulder, squinting at the suspiciously-bright white sky. I assume today is laundry day, and that we are all simply covered by God’s fresh white linens. The mysterious white glow makes the leaves look fairy-green, bright and dancing in the wind.
What a tempting thought to imagine the sky outside the bedsheets. A veil of white lifted from our heads to reveal a new world of green and blue and brown in the air. I contemplate new worlds while the one I’m in grows old and tired.
Oh how my thoughts float and disappear like thin streams of smoke. The source is hot and smoldering like the tip of an incense stick, and the result is a general scent, or feeling rather, that fills the room. I love days that talk of everything, that think of nothing. Days that suck energy like soil drinks water in a drought. Days where you beg to be lost rather than found. Days that only feel right and justified after a long week of trying to become some working part of society. What can we call these blissful days? How about, Saturday.