Saturday Night Inspiration

Solitude is what inspires me. When it’s just me and my laptop, anything can happen. No. It’s magic that can happen. Some writers like to write in coffee shops and get inspiration from the people drinking their pumpkin spice lattes to ward off the autumnal chill. Not me. I tend to pay too much attention to the woman tapping her pen as she reads a book or the couple arguing a few tables away. Too many people, too little attention to my all-important work.

I’ve always liked writing in a quiet environment. I can write just as well in the early morning hours as I can in the wee hours of the night. As long as no one is around to bother me, I’m good. I’m not sure if all this alone time is a good thing. While my writing gets better (I hope), I lose out on those relationships that can give me feelings that a good book just can’t. Like love. Like good ol’ lust. Like the hug that your beloved gives you at the end of a very bad day.

I’m good for now. At least, I think I am. As I write this, I would rather not be anywhere else. Yes, it is a Saturday night. But what would I be doing if I were not doing my life’s work? I’m too damn old to go clubbing, I’m generally not a movie person (long story). The only thing I could conceive of myself doing on a Saturday night is going to a restaurant with a cool person.

Ok. I could go out to eat with a non-boring person. But I would also have to get dressed up. I would also have to eat foodie trendbot food that I wouldn’t naturally gravitate towards in a million years. I would have to call it an early night so that I could eat the food that I really like: anything greasy and cheesy, please. Make two. To go, please. Thank you.

The only thing that would make going out on a slightly chilly Saturday night instead of staying in and doing my favorite activity in the entire world is the inspiration I would get from the night, The well educated, long, glossy haired trendbots who pierce the air of the restaurant with their squeals and giggles. The well-dressed hostess who not-so-secretly despises me. The Instagram wannabes who photograph everything on their plate. The whimsical, modern-day aesthetic of the too-cool-for-me restaurant. The scintillating conversation that still can’t take my mind off the fact that I would much rather be eating something that will make me feel like crap Sunday morning.

The night out just might inspire me. But a night in will keep me warm, in my pajamas, in front of my laptop, doing what I was sent here to do.

You know what? I’m good. Thanks, anyway.