Weekend Plans

Things to do on Friday usually all fall under the category sleep as late as possible. This week has been better than usual, I woke at 9:30 a.m. instead of five. If I prise myself away from the keyboard and go into a flurry of happy homemaker activity I could tire myself out enough to sleep again, then go to the Frank Collymore hall for a cocktail party at seven, watch the play Uptown Bangarang by Basil Dawkins from eight until about ten, ten thirty then drive over to the station, make coffee, run around doing vocal exercises to suppress the recurring frog rasp in my voice and then hit the switch at midnight and tell the Caribbean good morning.

Tomorrow will be a bit of a challenge. I usually get home around six or so after the show, have breakfast/dinner, some sort of meal and then wait as long as possible before crashing into sleep. This week I have a wedding to attend which will mean keeping some internal switch on alert so I can be where I am supposed to be on time. Then the party afterwards, where I intend to dance and do some serious booty shaking. It has been way too long! I have selfishly worked hard to avoid being the designated driver for my mother and her friends as they will all be ready to leave early and if I stay the course I will drive down to the East Coast and watch the sunrise on the way home. I am going to crash and burn anyway so I may as well ride the kite into the sun and burn in glory with the day!

It is a long time since I have moved into tomorrow in my mind, even for a moment, and here I am almost forty eight hours into what has not yet and may never come! All at the thought of dancing? No, more the thought of being held and twirled around the floor. The thought of catching eyes with a partner and laughing for the joy of it. The flirtatious glance, the uncomplicated lust that won't be fed but feels like such fun beneath the skin. And then the beach at night's end. Sand coarse and squeaking as I walk. The endless rush of waves and foam about my ankles. The taste of ozone as the wind swirls on sweat damp skin, stealing moisture, leaving salt behind. Then the sunrise breaching clouds, spreading the day's virgin blood in delicate tendrils tinting the horizon, surface of the ocean and gleaming red across my cheeks raised to praise the morning. At this moment only dreams and possibilities.

And I have the power and the will to make them truth.