Marc

In a Saturday - The Construct of Deconstruction
Saturday's, unlike every other day of the week, are both a catalyst, and a vacuum. Saturdays give us strength, lend us her strong shoulders, for us to grab hold of, and lean to for comfort, and support. We see Saturdays as the backbone of the week, where napping is encouraged, frollicking the norm, and dilly-dallying the absolute must. Saturdays are like the antidote to the hectic workday schedule. We, on the whole, love Saturdays.

But, Saturday nights, ahh ... there, my friends, is a different story. No matter what your eyes may see, or how badly your heart may want to partake in something, there simply is never much to do. There are parties, though weak. There are groups of people walking around, yet their faces cling to the sidewalk, only staring at their feet, counting their footsteps between the cracks. Saturdays, though started with a bang, and carried through the afternoon by a seeming air mattress of comfort, fall short usually by nine thirty in the evening, when something should be happening, but nothing never usually is happening.

Saturdays - a blessing, and a curse.