Summer Weekends

It was a beautiful July Saturday, I’ll say that.
I did not run. After waking up at 6:30 am (WHYYYYYYYY?) I puttered around my apartment for literally hours, making coffee, ‘organizing’ laundry, (Ie, moving it from place to place, folding it, getting distracted, then leaving it on the kitchen counter—don’t ask) and then deciding to say “to hell with it” about the run and just making some macaroni and cheese from the box, and deciding the only thing that would go with it was a can of Coke, and leaving my apartment, running across the street with a five-dollar bill to the small convenience store, and buying one.

Back home, I ate the pasta directly from the pot, standing up in my kitchen. I explored the possibilities of the day; it was wide open. Sure, there is tonnes of work-work to do. Yes, this apartment is not going to clean itself (the dishes in the sink for the past three days have  made that abundantly clear). But the sunshine beckoned. The rooftop called. The seven-day-loan-only-non-renewable-library book I’m currently reading “Blood, Bones, and Butter” by Gabrielle Hamilton begged to be read.

I gave in, put on my bikini, got my rooftop-beach bag with supplies and went up there.
No one. All afternoon.

Just the sun, the sky, a few wasps and flies, me, the book, a bottle of water, and the stillness of the city on a nice July day.

My evening plans involved the Jazz Festival in the Beach, where I met my mom and then some friends. A pasta dinner outside rounding out the day, a quick glass of wine in one of the overflowing bars, and then just walking up and down the closed-to-cars Queen Street for a few nice hours. The crush of people didn’t even faze or deter me.

Getting a cab home was another story, but I soldiered along, stealing backward glances at the traffic for an approaching taxi, walking almost 4 km before snagging one. I chalked the walk up to my exercise for the day and was home in under ten minutes after that.

This morning..up way too early again. I’m reading the book (I can’t put it down, it’s a memoir by a chef, a female chef at that, who took the long way in her career, the kind of bumpy road that makes for great story-telling and a humble manner that I’m lapping up).
It’s looking like another beautiful July day out there. I am a bit crispy-skinned from my hours on the roof, and a bit light-headed from lack of sleep and two late nights in a row, but I’m relaxed. I’m weekend-ed.

Today looks promising for the cleaning up I’ve pledged myself to do.

Happy Sunday (girl!)