my weekend paradox

Well, the weekend is again upon us. I struggle with weekends.
It is either the heavy feeling of gloomy hours spent alone or the overwhelming duty of having Lilly 24-7.

I pass through the hallways of work, looking into the faces of my co-workers--most of them uninspired, ruddy, tired. I say to myself, why if unattached don't they aspire to do other things? Things that make them happy? Perhaps the misery is a type of familiar comfort to them, like co-dependence. I don't know. If I had no strings-- I would be gone from here.

I search for the light in people. Strange when you look at someone what reads..flat affect often times is what I see. Like someone took a wet, muddy rag and wiped it all over their faces.
I wonder what reads from me.
It was always my hope that it would be something like Flaming Lip's "What is the Light"
I suppose that only reads when one is in love.

so Motorcycle Diaries or Constantine tonight.. and after that.. well,