One's Not Such a Bad Number.

I sit here alone on a Friday night. Mr. M is at the office late. I want to do something, but then again . . . I don't. Contrary to the song, one isn't always a sad or lonely number. I'm enjoying the cozy, quiet night in. I have asked my friends, by way of the computer, if any of them want to come over or go out; so I get up every few minutes when my computer makes a bonging noise. I've also called a friend and am waiting for her to call back and let me know if she is free tonight; so I am expecting my phone to ring any minute. Is this what it is to be enslaved by my devises? I don't want to start reading my book, because I know I'll just get interrupted. I think I will just turn off anything that bings, bongs, beeps, boops, or rings, and enjoy this quiet evening at home, reading my book in uninterrupted silence.