A friend asked and forced me to think about it. (Women tend to do that.) Honestly, I was surprised. It turns out I am organized as hell. Who would have thought? (Not me.)
Mondays… High time to chillax, high time for a smoke. Can be alone or with somebody I met Friday, Saturday or Sunday. Not too much alcohol. As much pot as possible. (If I feel the urge to write or paint, I kill that burden with outrageous laziness and a snack or two.)
Tuesdays are for writing, beer and whisky. No need for company. (There’s no time for distraction.)
Wednesday a post gets published at 8 pm local time. So I want to be in public, look at the body language of some readers.
No, I don’t listen to a word they say. Once they accept you for what you do, they don’t criticize you anymore – as if they refuse to make you better, as if deep down they hate you. (Maybe not so much for the beauty you create, but all the more for the inevitable, ugly darkness that slaps them in the face – so I’ve been told.)
Cheers to that! (Love is welcome.)
If I don’t go out for dinner, Thursdays are for writing. And even when I go out for dinner, I write in my head. Typing a few ideas or phrases on my phone when she’s off to the ladies’ room, powdering her nose or taking a piss. (Probably both.) Alcohol allowed. Sex would be great.
Fridays are Friday night. Everything goes. Transition. Anything can happen (but most of the time nothing ever does) – a prelude.
Saturday is the best day ever. The working week is behind me and more important there’s still one more day between me and my duties. Wondrous. Truly amazing.
Again, anything can happen today. Write, paint, make love, get drunk, get stoned, talk to someone, watch a movie, read a book. Sleep. (Go to the supermarket, clean the apartment.) Cook.
Horny as fuck. So I will go the extra mile. (No matter what happened Friday.)
Sunday a post is published around 11 am local time. Also, recovering at ease, preparing for what’s likely to come.
Unless I have other plans. (That goes without saying.)
But, go slowly on the beer. Eat and rest as much as I can. Maybe one or two joints. Create as much as I can.
Back to life
“Anything else you need to know?”
“Wow,” she said, “I didn’t expect an answer like that.”
“No shit Sherlock,” I replied. “So, how does your week look like?”