I've Been Neglectful

Gosh, September 20th?! That's the date of my last blog entry?! This is getting embarrassing. I sincerely apologize for neglect -- please do not report me to the Department of Social Services for Blog Writers.

It's Friday night and I'm sitting out on our balcony watching the sun set over W.T. Harris Boulevard (believe me, it's even more romantic than it sounds) and thinking about how Friday nights have changed for me since entering the "real world." In high school I would be going strong -- entering my twelfth hour of pure energy which started at 7:45 am when school started and was followed by hanging out at Bojangle's or Bowman's for after school socializing then dinner at Osaka, Dairy Center, or Dos Amigos for pre-football game fuel-ups with the next step being to head over to Gurley Stadium to see some Red Devil Football. And then there would be three hours of cheering on Big Red inevitably followed by three more hours of after dark debauchery around a bonfire or in the basement at someone's house. *sigh*, memories . . .

Then, in college, Friday night became just another night to go out. On average, I had no classes on Friday so I was probably just now showering so I could look presentable at the very fine institutions of Shooters or the nearest Flip Cup table. I would be at either one long enough before heading back to the dorm and hanging out with my dearest friends until the wee hours of the morning.

Now, my 9 to 5 job and busy evenings have led me to cherish Friday evenings -- and by cherish I mean see the other side of my eyelids by 10:30 pm. It's amazing how routine can drain you and make you worn out on the very first night you have off for a few days. These past few weeks have been particularly excruciating with a lot of important work activities like grant writing and Board meetings followed by equally as important evening activities like hair appointments and Junior League meetings. Seriously though, even Newt-the-cat is beginning to feel neglected due to my absence from the apartment for hours on end (I know this because as I am typing he is giving my ankles love bites).

Even with all of this added responsibility, one good thing about being a grown up is that at least now I appreciate, more and more, sitting down on a balcony and watching the sunset -- even if it is over the local Applebee's while the waft of cigarette smoke curls around me from our neighbor below. It's still good to be home.