only a wooden shack away

I spent much of the weekend in solitude. Friday I was actually involved in doing "work" for my job. Where my "work" consisted of calling some people and waiting for them to call back and ultimately deciding I didn't have to go into the office or turn on my computer. This is my favorite kind of work - the kind where I don't do anything. However, this obligation prevented me from making any plans for the evening. By the time I was assured I wouldn't be going into the office, it was too late to scrounge up any friends. No matter. I entertained myself. And boy was I hilarious. Particularly when I told myself this joke I had heard the other day: A termite walks into a bar and asks, "Where's the bartender?" You think it doesn't sound funny, huh? Whatever, guess you had to be me.

Saturday, I had this insane compulsion to clean. I know that I promised I wouldn't, but apparently I was subconsciously practicing reverse psychology on myself. (That's some shit that insane pervert Freud never even thought of.) True, people were coming over, but they were people I had priorly not cleaned for, many, many times. (I hope the lack of manly aroma didn't perturb them.) On the plus side, I only cleaned the living room and scoffed at the uncleanliness elsewhere.
Sunday I went to a bar and watched football - by myself. Unbeknowst to me, I was at the tail end of the official weekend for stiffing roger over. That's fine. I don't care; a lot of cool and successful people were complete loners, like Ted Kaczynski.