Waking up this morning, my first thought was genuinely an excited “Have I turned into someone who can sleep in on weekends?” It was only 7:30 when I woke up, but as someone who tends to wake up closer to 6 during the week, that extra 90 minutes feels luxurious. Part of it, I know, is that it wasn’t entirely dark when I awoke; as I get older, the prospect of waking up with no light outside becomes increasingly bleak, as if it’s a metaphor for something I can’t understand but recognize as bad. I start to long for summer, when “daytime” starts around 5am. Then, I feel, it’s safe to get an early start to the day.
My second thought was to wonder why Wyclef Jean’s “Gone Til November” was playing in my head. January, February, March April May, something I can’t remember about not being able to stay…