Even though it has been over a year since I have done the 9 to 5 routine, I still think Saturday mornings feel different than the rest of the week. There is something in the air that says it is not a work day. It sounds different outside. It is quieter. There is less hustle and bustle. The gym has different hours on Saturdays. Even Starbucks does. I always thought the sun shone slightly different on Saturday morning. Perhaps because that was always the one day I was sure to take the time to notice.
Even though the days can run into one another when the only structure is self imposed, I still get that thrill out of knowing it is Saturday and the weekend is in full swing. It doesn't matter that I sometimes get my best writing out on a Saturday, often working more than say a Monday. It doesn't matter that I know that nap I can take in the afternoon is one I can now do any day. There is still that anticipation of two full days ahead of me that I can do whatever I want.
Saturday is that day to give permission to read the More magazine that has been sitting on my desk all week, stroll down Columbus Avenue with no destination in mind, allow myself the day off with absolutely no guilt.
Unless the muse strikes. In which case, it doesn't matter that it is Saturday morning. My keyboard is where you will find me.