Maybe Peter will make it all better.

There's a discussion I have with myself about 9 p.m. every Sunday night:

"Self, you will not still be sitting at your computer at 1 a.m. It's a new week. Do it right. Fold laundry. Do the cat litter. Put away cereal. Get to bed. Now. You don't want to be dragging ass at 8:15 tomorrow and, again, leaving the house without your glasses."

Obviously, I don't carry much weight with myself.... (...she writes from her computer at 1:23, frosted shredded wheat biscuit in mid-chew.)

Some people dread the workweek. It's not so much that for me, but that I find Sunday nights lonely.

I'm embarrassed to type that sentence when this weekend I was invited to 2 parties and 2 concerts, 2 other friends made me 2 separate meals (homemade Hungarian sausage!), and my cats took to hanging on my kitchen table with their butts inches from my nose. There was an eternal church service where my choir sang Bach and another service of more Bach singing (and German), and then my best high school friend called from Arizona all chatty and my best college friend called from Minnesota all chatty. Finally, Joshua e-mailed and we confirmed next week's (previously in-doubt) trip to Queens and attendant Peter Sarsgaard Broadway extravaganza.

Yes. It's all good. Reminded of that hoary cliche where Mom says, "Eat your squash! There are starving children in Ethiopia!" As in: be grateful for what you have when others have none. Had I been a hermit the last 3 days I might have reason to bitch with greater flourish.

Still, my cats have absconded to the couch. All my friends are at their homes. I'm at the computer. I ate a boatload of cereal about 10 minutes ago. I'm wide awake. It didn't matter how many people I saw this weekend. I'm now alone.

Sounds like a recipe for trouble.

But, mmmmm.....Peter Sarsgaard.....

(Yes. That is chest hair.)