Lifestyles of the lame and employed.

It would be hard to convey how much I have been holding on to the idea of this three-day weekend. If someone had told me yesterday, “Oh, sorry, we’re not having a three-day weekend anymore,” I might have punched them.

And guess what? This morning (my day to sleep in!) I woke up at 7:15, thinking about work.

Hello, brain? Did I mention three-day weekend?

Last night both Billy and I were so exhausted from the week that we sat numbly on the couch, unable to pull together any energy to go out to eat, or drink, or just out. For dinner, if you want to call it that, we tried to think of the easiest possible thing to cook, so drained were we that we couldn’t be bothered even to order in.  Easy things to cook, in our house = things that can be put into the oven for 20-30 minutes and forgotten about. Let’s just say that the frozen pizza option had been used up the night before (it was that kind of week) and that our menu last night included tater tots.

We are young, energetic (theoretically) people in our early mid-30s, and on the Friday night of a much-anticipated three-day weekend, we stayed in, ate an assortment of frozen fried foods and watched bad TV shows (yes, more than one) about people who were trying to change their lifestyles to lose weight, eat better, spend less time in front of the TV, feel better about themselves, etc., etc.

Insert irony here.

While sprawled out on the couch of sloth, my brain refused to stop being in work mode.  I kept repeating, “I can’t relax.” Billy, who was playing a mind-numbing video game on his laptop and drinking a beer, said, “the beer helps.”

I agreed with this statement. But in fact, since I’ve begun working full-time again, and since Billy’s work has escalated in intensity over the past few months, there are many more nights than there used to be in which we have a beer over dinner. But this method of dispelling the day’s stress has a direct relationship (along with the frozen entrees, see above) to the tightness of certain pants. I’m trying to cut back.

The point is, I’m trying to let go of my week, my month, the past three months. Maybe that’s a lot to ask of a three-day weekend. Most certainly it is. But the TV is off, and I’ve slept. I don’t have to go to work today. I’m trying to focus on things I can’t stop to enjoy during the week. The parrots have squawked by in their morning flyover. It’s sunny and summery and clear outside. The flowers in my garden are blooming again.

And I can do whatever I want for the next three whole days.

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2 thoughts on “Lifestyles of the lame and employed.

  1. I had two writing friends over yesterday, and most of our conversation was lamenting about how work eats up our souls. And we’re all mid-40s, with children, and so even less time for our writing and other creative passions, which we all seemed to feel is peaking right now. It’s a dilema. And beer does help, which can be a problem.

  2. Last night my husband said to me, “You do realize it’s the Sunday night of a three-day weekend, right? Meaning it’s basically like a Saturday night?” I nodded. I was busy clacking away on my laptop, doing reserach for some pitches, while he watched LOTR. “Well, I was just hoping you could maybe relax a bit.”

    In our house, it’s the wine that helps. When he poured me a glass, I finally closed the laptop for the night.

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