A week ago I spent the whole weekend alone. I didn't go out at all and was in bed before midnight both Friday and Saturday night. I felt like a failure in some ways. I've had an incongruously busy summer and have been working almost non-stop between a day job, a few side projects, and the production of a short film that I just finished shooting. For the first time in months I finally had a weekend that was completely unspoken for in advance, without any pressing tasks that needed completion before another Monday descended like an unwelcome guest. I had no idea what I would do, but sometime mid-week I started looking forward to the luxurious array of possibilities. I could do anything I wanted. Still, I decided to stay at home and, save for a few excursions for coffee and sustenance, vegetate.
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