Walked to my car in the rain yesterday, but it was fine, because work was done for the week and I was going home. I started the engine and sat there for a minute, wet and warm and perfectly content even though my shoes were soaked through and my hair was already starting to frizz. A song I liked was on the radio so I turned it up, turned off the street on which I was parked, and took my place in the line of traffic going through Kaneohe town. Hardly ever hear this song on weekdays, workdays, bad days. Took it as a signal that my weekend had begun and it would be good, even better because the next song was something big and boomy, a tune sung by a person who was cursed and knew it, could not feel alone even if he tried, and that was comforting. But I fumbled with the buttons on the radio and the song ended two minutes earlier than it should have. Couldn’t recover the station, the song, the moment, that weekend feeling that should happen every five days, but doesn’t. Stayed mad about it for hours, could hardly enjoy dinner with Daniel, skulked around the grocery store for a pack of Red Vines at nine thirty last night, because everything since the song had been cut short was not the way I thought it should be. I was grumpy, and I felt ugly, and I tried to apologize, but told Daniel instead that I wanted it to stop. We watched a movie that didn’t end til after one, and for all the waiting I’d done, it fell significantly short of expectations. Crawled into bed later hoping some sleep would wash it all away.