A hot date with my fireplace

It's Friday night and I'm home alone.

There was a time when that statement would have had my heart racing like a GT down an icy hill, and you would have found me closing all of the blinds to ensure nobody noticed. Only losers stay home alone on weekends, right? I'm supposed to be out at exotic parties or listening to live music or having a movie night with the girls, and not be sitting in front of the fire with my chin on the carpet for hours on end.

But... my feet are cold and I want to listen to new music and sip mint hot chocolate and have the lamps turned low and the nail polish handy. So, I have spent the better part of the evening straddling my fireplace or becoming a starfish on the carpet (it did cross my mind, as my face was getting carpet imprints on it, how many microscopic bugs were crawling all over me, but then I remembered that we got our carpets cleaned a couple months ago, so I was probably fine). My musical genious of a boyfriend made me a mix tape (er, CD) that was so good it moved me to tears in some parts (now, imagine a fireplace, soft lighting, some beautiful music, and me sitting there wiping my eyes with my hoodie sleeve -- either really romantic, or really SAD, right?). I also made a disaster with my nail polish, as usual, but there's something undeniably special about the scent of a good polish. I'm always reminded of summer evenings, or weddings, or fun dates, or high school sleep overs, or runs in nylons. And now I'm reminded of nights home alone.

I'm relieved that I'm happy to step away from the social circle for a time. I used to go out even when I was tired, and just make sure I had a big-assed coffee beforehand. Of course, part of it was that I wanted to be with my friends, but part of it was also to appear cool and because I was afraid to disappoint anyone (a people-pleaser to the core). When people asked me what I did over the weekend, I wanted to have something to show for myself that might even make people ENVIOUS of me! Wow!

But somehow it's different now.

I think I have a definition for adulthood: A stage in life when one DESIRES to have quiet nights at home, alone, and when one doesn't really give a rip if anyone knows. So, tonight I could have done fun activities with all sorts of stellarific people, but I didn't want to. I'm tired. It's Friday. It has been a looooooooooooooooong week - a long couple of months, actually. I don't want to talk to any more people. I'm done. I'm embracing the silence like a friend I neglect far too often and whose sweater smells of all things vanilla. I think I'm going to go back to my fireplace, settle my bum into the carpet, and pick up my book that I've been halfway through for the past two weeks.

And so I say goodnight, dear Weekend. My sincerest thanks for the lovely evening.