Ah well, me and weekends. We do not get along.
I start out with a big buildup. By Friday, I had made plans to call a friend Saturday night, to take my Dad to his church on Sunday, and to meet with my wife for the first time in a couple of weeks later that afternoon. For Saturday, I was thinking about a day-trip to go bird-watching. I even set my clock to wake me up early.
Plans like that always decay on me. First, I decide not to wake up so early. Then I wake up and have breakfast, and lie down on my bed (still my only real furniture) to read. Then I fall asleep again. Then I deliberately sleep as long as I can. Finally, I come to my senses about five in the afternoon and get up to try to make something out of the remaining hours. I often suspect I do it deliberately, to keep from going out during the day. "Why" is still a mystery, though. Something to do with maybe I'd actually have to deal with being alive, then.
Sunday started better; I took my Dad to church, the one I used to go to with my parents from when I was a kid until my twenties. It was an interesting demonstration of the cycle of life. A quarter century later, it was much the same, with small children, teenagers, parents, and old folks, same as before. Except everyone had moved up a notch, and all the kids were born after I left the place.
Afternoon, my meeting with my wife went about as expected. That is, I left angry and nearly despondent again. I went to the library for an hour to cool off and to chat with people online; it's the only place I can get to a computer on the weekend. Then I got a call from my friend, just as I was trying to decide what to do with the rest of my day. Let's call it "timely" and leave it at that. :-) I finished the day well, getting all the bills paid for the month. So I guess it emphasizes the importance of having friends.