I stopped watching Saturday morning cartoons when I was about six or seven. I don't feel that a part of my childhood is missing; they just bored me like a trip to Disneyland or the dentist. Today, the only repercussion I suffer is simply having no idea what people are talking about when they discuss Lion-O and Tygra.
This morning I woke up to the rustlings of my roommate packing for a trip home to California. Last night, she threw a party for our other roommate's birthday. I made an obligatory appearance and then slinked upstairs to go to bed (which is code for "getting online to chat with friends"). As I listened to my roommate shuffle and shift, I wondered, What does the main floor look like? Is the couch still in the kitchen? Is the floor still covered with confetti? What dishes have been done? What mess is left for me to clean up while they're gone for the weekend? I bantered groggily with the roommate for an hour till she was finally ready to leave and waited a couple minutes after I heard the door shut behind her to decide it was safe enough to venture back down to the main level and see what work awaited me.
I was ready for Saturday morning cleaning.
The couch was back in the living room and most of the confetti was gone. The kitchen was remotely clean, which is to say, the cleanest they have ever left it. Although the dishwasher had not been run, all of the party's dishes were neatly loaded and ready to be cleaned. And I was strangely disappointed. Disappointed enough, in fact, that I didn't even do the scraps of work that they had left for me. I'm sitting in the living room right now, looking at some specks of confetti that have been left. I do not pick them up. I am leaving my own dishes in the kitchen sink. I am lounging around the house in my pajamas. My roommates are gone. I am alone. This whole weekend will be a lazy Saturday morning.
