A good movie, a feast, and sleep?

On my days off, I daydream. About everything — good holidays, peaceful days, good food, about what I would do if… Sometimes my thoughts drift to things that were beautiful in the past, and my memory pulls those moments back. Most often, these are calm, long weekends or mini getaways somewhere with space just for two and a big enough bed. Since, during the more active rolling around in bed, at my age, a bit of rest is welcome too, I started thinking about what I like to do — or what I actually do — when the orgasms run out for a while, and it’s time for other things.

I’m not talking about ordinary days, when you can have sex at home, when you might be alone, or when the kids finally find their way to their own beds and are fast asleep. Then it’s evident that after bedroom activities, nothing feels better than sleep. If the opportunity comes while the sun is still shining, we usually rush to errands and try to get back into our rhythm as quickly as possible. On sex weekends, obligations disappear — at least most of them. Of course, some planning and brainpower are needed, but the only genuine concern, at least for me, is when I’ll finally get to bed. 

When the worries go away, and the first few rounds of bed pleasures are over, a craving for food awakens in me. Usually, I’m not a big eater. I like cooking, but I often have to force myself to eat lunch. In the evening, there’s usually a vegetable smoothie, followed by frantic bathroom visits as water pours out of me. And that’s the end of my eating day. But when I have a relaxation weekend, it’s as if I turn into another person — one I don’t really know. After sex, I always crave coffee and a cigarette, but then it’s time to attack the fridge. If there’s nothing substantial in there, I want lunch — and fast. My second self appears in the person I share the weekend with. No hunger, no desire for food. How the hell is that possible? Meanwhile, I could eat an elephant and a half. 

Even after lunch, I don’t really stop — then something sweet and another coffee come next. When my stomach is more than full, I’m only suitable for bed and television. I rarely feel like watching anything that isn’t a comedy. Even though the list of films I want to see grows longer every year, I rarely reach for them on such a getaway. It’s as if sex wipes all intelligence from my head, and my neurons can only handle silly reality shows and comedies. If I can’t find American Pie on any channel or streaming service, the Croatian Dinner for Five always wins. Episode after episode follows, and the bed shakes with laughter and disbelief. Sometimes, even in myself, when that self‑critical neuron wakes up. Luckily, on weekends like these, it’s easy to silence it.

Cooking shows make me hungry again. And if the series was interrupted for an hour and a half because the bed slats needed a bit of shaking, then I feel an enormous emptiness in my stomach. That’s when it’s time for leftovers and another fridge raid. Salami, bread, and preferably ice cream are always the best choice. When I return to bed, it’s time to wake the TV again. Right where we left off. As the plot intensifies, with every breath, the desire for sleep settles into me. Yawning becomes more frequent until I finally take off my glasses with the explanation, “No, I’m not falling asleep, I’m still watching,” even though the picture is getting blurrier. My head is already drifting into sweet, carefree dreams. 

Of course, the overeating shows itself the next morning. But honestly, I couldn’t care less. Another day is ahead of me — a day when I don’t have to do anything, when the whole day is devoted to my pleasure — the bedroom kind, the series kind, the food kind, and the endlessly long talking kind.