I remember when Fridays were good things. When Friday meant going to Chuck's and filling up on sugar and Sister Sister (oh, those Mowry sisters sure gave me toothaches!) and looking forward to a night out with mom and dad and Nati at some really nice restaurant, maybe in North Beach, maybe downtown - and then crawling onto the couch for a movie.
Saturday cartoons. My mom and I were the early risers. I'd be up by seven, she'd be up by then or shortly thereafter. Power Rangers, Tiny Toons, Animaniacs. Anything-everything-yes-please. Pancakes, maybe. Most likely beans and eggs and homemade salsa. Maybe we'd clean the house, maybe we'd go out on the town for shopping and drinks.
Sunday morning. Even lazier, even sleepier. In the winter or on cold nights we'd make the most of our fireplace. Nati and I would fight over who would go to get the next round of firewood.
Fridays are the WORST days now. Work tonight. Work tomorrow. Sometimes doubles. And I've gotten accustomed to closing on Sundays, which means I miss my favorite shows (why, VH1, WHY?!). And even if I could have weekends off again, those fireside Saturdays and sleepy Sundays are all miles and miles away now. My sister is grown up, my parents are divorced, and I don't think they really realize how I use those memories as scales to my happiness in modern times.
And I am happy. But I'm also an adult. And things aren't as seemingly forever when you grow up.
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