On surviving Friday night

Lots of people go out on Friday night to celebrate the end of the week, but I’m melting down at the end of the day with a couple of loads of laundry, some pork chops, a bit of Kentucky hooch, and Tony Bourdain traveling around Colombia. I have no energy to go out, drink in a bar, or mix it up with a lot of strangers. There is something liberating about Friday night that breaks all of the rules, knows no boundaries, respects no conventions, and, frankly, my dear, doesn’t give a damn after a hard week of frustrations and disappointments. Yet, I also know that my frustrations and disappointments are pretty minimal when I compare them to others, who may be fighting for their very lives. My problems don’t amount to a hill of beans when others are fighting pneumonia or just old age. But on Friday night none of that matters as the wounds heal, perspective relativizes all hurts, and time begins to push all problems into the past. If we did not have Friday nights, our lives would be unbearable, or almost. Friday night is time off from the day to day routine which burdens us, makes us serious and sad. On Friday night most of us don’t really have to work, don’t have a fixed bed time, and can do whatever we feel like doing, which really doesn’t happen too often. Friday night is about freedom, to think, to do, to act, to sleep, to eat, to drink, to do nothing if the spirit so leads us. On Friday nights we cast off the shackles of daily life and let our spirits free. It just has to happen from time to time.