31 days and counting...

"Another Saturday night and I ain't got nobody
I've got some money 'cause I just got paid
Now, how I wish I had someone to talk to
I'm in an awful way"
-Cat Stevens

Saturday night, 8 pm, sitting on my couch. Alone. And it's really no one's fault but my own.
Why is it I feel more pity for myself alone on a Saturday night than, say, a Wednesday? Saturday day time is met with simple questions about my weekend plans but with ensuing panic as I scramble for sufficient answers that won't leave me feeling judged, or worse, pitied if they heard the real truth: I don't have any Saturday night plans. Why is it so hard to admit that? Is Saturday night the pinnacle of the week that I'm supposed to have been working for and looking forward to? Saturday night has been issued by decree to be date night apparently and any single person without an invitation feels like a loser regardless of any attempts at implying their current situation is intentional by posting pictures of their glass of wine on instagram labeled #alonetime. Nobody wants to be alone on a Saturday night.

Yet my current situation finds me alone, on my couch, at 8pm on a Saturday night. It's not ideal, I'm not gonna pretend. But I won't feel sorry for myself. Am I any less loved because I'm here not "out" there? No. Besides, my best dates happen on week days anyway.