Some of my best weekends are spent at home. The place where I stay is not your typical grand penthouse unit on top of the building, but it's modest and cozy. There, in the confines of familiar space, I can lounge around my bed till noon, sometimes in boxer shorts, at other times au naturel. I can let loose my magazines and have the porn ones sit with ease beside Time and Newsweek. I can stare at the ceiling for hours till I'm lulled back to sleep again and again, and not worry about hitting the shower. Besides, there is something about not taking a bath till later in the day that's so infinitely relaxing it actually becomes addicting. I don't know, the feel of sheets on your skin in the early hours of the day may have something to do with it also.
Or it could be the pleasant air of informality and simplicity that pervades the whole place. It's soothing to imagine that you can be ugly for the rest of the day and no one, not one of your friends or dates, will be privileged to see you. And so you feel safe going around the house crudely in shirts whose only claim to existence is that either you're too sentimental or you're too close-fisted and no one will shout to remind you that floral or plaid ensemble is sooo done. You can also listen forever to all the hopelessly romantic songs bordering on lunacy and idiocy, and you don't have to be nice to consider the preferences of other people. You can prop up your feet atop the tallest furniture in the house and you don't have to contend with comments reprimanding you for needing foot makeover. I love staying home.
When I'm embarrassed finally and decide to at least make myself look and feel human again, I take long hot baths and heartily sing in the shower. I change into new set of comfortable house clothes and check the refrigerator for anything that suits my mood and my clothes or my hairstyle. Sometimes it's just Diet Pepsi, other times seedless grapes, or just plain jumbo hotdog and sunny side-up eggs. I take any one of the Dalai Lama books I have and find a spot in the couch where my lower back is planted firmly, and then I begin to drown myself in Buddhism.
All these while Shirley Bassey accompanies me at the background sometimes. When she's off, it's Harry Connick Jr. or Steve Tyrell or Michael Buble or....or....well, what the heck, Dulce!
Hope your weekend was great!!
No comments:
Post a Comment