While some people hate it, I love living alone. And the weekends are when I love living alone the most. I love my time then, when it seems to stretch out in all directions. I can roll out of bed whenever I want or conversely spend a greater part of the morning lying around. When I am finally upright, I can again choose to do whatever I want. If the week was a tough one, I might curl up under blankets in front of my screen and catch up on some TV. But if I have energy I could do something a little more active – like exercise, or clean, or go out. If I wanted, I could also cook a large meal, stuff my face, and crawl back into the softness of my bed.

This past weekend was, of course, a long one due to Memorial Day. I wasn’t prepared to do a whole lot, but I did get a tremendous amount of rest. I caught up on a lot of television and sleep. I mostly only left the house to re-up on snacks. Except for one afternoon, in which I went to a café to have a Matcha and a catch-up session with another friend who also works the 9-to-5 grind and was similarly having a lazy holiday weekend.

As we walked back to our separate residences, we passed through a local street festival. A band comprised solely of tuba players was in the middle of their performance on the main stage, which did make conversation difficult until we passed briefly into a darkened interior where volunteers were slinging craft beer.

When I met up with my friend she was still recovering from a work-stress-induced “Trader Joe’s impulse spending spree”, and thus wasn’t interesting in spending any money on food or drink. But passing by the vendors at the street fair put me in the mood for a couple crisp beverages. So, when I parted ways with my friend, I stopped by a liquor store before heading home. After stepping into the dimly lit space and nodding a hello to the cashier, I made my way over to the craft beer cooler. The wall in front of me was a sea of cartoon colors and varying typefaces. I eyed a couple old familiar names, before my eyes drifted to a new can that looked interesting and had an alcohol content I could manage.  I pulled it from the fridge, hoisted the cans on the counter, and left with the goods in hand.

Once home, I settled into hibernation mode. This meant cracking open a beer, putting together a giant plate of pasta, and settling into some streaming content. The rest of the weekend passed in much the same manner, as a series of gentle indulgences. In between these interludes of quiet pleasure-seeking, I mostly slept. I slept so much at times that it would have been worrisome, under normal circumstances. But I knew that the reality was that the previous work week had worn me down to a nub. In this case, a weekend of doing nothing wasn’t a waste, but a needed oasis.