Friday night is all about creating the illusion of enjoyment in the absence of excitement. It is the quest for release -- freedom from the school week and all those manifesting stresses and responsibilities. Friday night is the hope of adventure and new experience -- of starting off the weekend right and somehow making it all "worth it."
If I'm lucky it might be a movie, or a social gathering, or a play, or a concert. More often than not it's unrealized aspirations, it's plans that go wrong and ideas that are simply unattainable. Friday night is the echoing monotony of boredom; it's the phrase "so what do you want to do?" meeting, without fail, the chiming response of "I dunno" every couple of minutes.
Friday night is some idle upholstery: a car seat or a couch. It is the avoidance of the past and the future, a constant feeling of rushed movement, as is if each action is an attempt to put distance between my ever present concerns and myself. And as illogical and futile as many of these actions may seem in hindsight, they are effectively what create Friday's memories. Some would argue that memories are what defines us, so in many ways I can roughly be categorized by how I spend my Friday evening. Defined by whether or not I get invited to this or that event -- by the social tickets that I possess.
Friday night is driving aimlessly in the hope that a magical Excitement sprite will ambush the vehicle and set the night on course for the Isle of Awesome. Friday night is an hour-long brainstorming session over what to do; yet the result is more like a brain-drizzle of spontaneous proposals.
Then again, Friday night is the realization that magical Excitement sprites are on the brink of extinction, and that the Isle of Awesome is mostly myth -- likely the result of a cunning trick played out by some explorer's assistant. And after all, there is always Saturday.