At 11 o'clock last night, after working three hours at my part-time job, which was after working all day on my full-time job, I felt the desire to pull a Matt Harding. For those of you who don't know or who have forgotten who he is, Matt Harding is the guy who, in lieu of having a "real job" (whatever that is, really) went around the world and got someone to tape him dancing, sometimes alone, sometimes with others. He dances his silly stepping/hopping dance in front of the Eiffel Tower, in a place called Tongo, in Timbuktu, Iceland, Ireland, the South Shetland Islands... wherever his fancy feet take him.
In university, after a night of hard studying, and before everyone went to bed, it was natural to congregate in someone's room or the living room and just unwind... and perhaps a G&T would somehow make it into your hand as well... we would talk about stupid stuff, or TV shows, just giggle about nothing in particular or vent about a ridiculous essay topic we had been working on... Can I really write 20 pages on why Stalin invaded Korea after WWII? Does Emily Dickinson really address the issue of existentialism in her nature poems? Do we even really care about this stuff?
Last night after an exhausting day, a frivolous moment was exactly what I needed... a G&T is out of the picture for at least five more months or longer... so I should have taken a leaf out of Matt Harding's book and put on some music and danced my own little dance. However, and perhaps this is showing my age, I was so tired that I just went to bed... that was probably the most ridiculous thing I could have ever done.
Next time, I will heed the wisdom of giving into the need for some silliness... it's just a good thing our windows look out onto a greenbelt...