Some want nothing but to get to their weekends, so that in that brief respite they can forget about work and dismiss deadlines hung over their heads by bosses they love to hate. Yet Friday night, as soon as they clock out of work, they retain their task master mode but shift focus on the dozen or so errands needed to be done for that sliver of time: walk dog, vacuum carpet, buy groceries, go to dentist, change sheets, check kids’ homework, get friend’s gift, clean bath, wash car, get some cash, oh, and book massage. The switch from work robot to home robot gives them a different sense of being accomplished, on track. But every Sunday night, when the three-day whirlwind is over, they retire to their beds more stressed and still not ready to go back to the grind.
Some want nothing but to get to their weekends, pack it with misadventures to fill up their calendars, cross off bucket lists, pile it on top of their many other experiences so that they appear learned, interesting, and with frequent flyer miles to boot. They crave company and sit among so-called friends whom they’ve only met by social media, so that together they can fill up their iPhones with memories they can post in their unforgetdebatable Instagram accounts. This gives them a sense of being alive, connected, valued. But the irony is, every Sunday night, when the three-day fun is over, they return to a home that’s as empty as when they left it.
Some want nothing but to get to their weekends, so they can cram a measly few days with being with their peoples. They’d accept all and every invitation extended to them by their friends and fam, who know quite well they would always show up. So there’s Friday night cap with co-workers, a brunch date with bestie, shopping date with mom, coffee with the gang, movie night with the S.O., Sunday morning bike ride with buds, a late lunch with church mates, Sunday dinner with fam. Their weekend calendars are as social as Facebook, and as happening as Twitter. But as Sunday night rolls in, when the three-day party is over, all they could do is shake off the eerie quiet of being by themselves.
Some want nothing but to get to their weekends, so that they can get away from the frenzy that’s their Monday to Friday. Leaving the weekday world behind, they lock their apartment doors, slip into something comfortable, and in their solitude, ponder. They’ve maddening methods to letting their thoughts flow, and the weekend forms the backbone for mushy musings. They often let time tick by as they stare into space, towards worlds that are far from their own. Behind the walls they’ve locked themselves in and from the safety of their couches, they may feel they’ve journeyed ever so far, but not really. As Sunday night comes by, when the three-day retreat is over, they want nothing more than to be back in the world of the living.
This is you, and this is me. Is this what we really want our weekend selves to be?
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Pictured: Mystery of our times, a doodle
Finally Dee 