Every single weekend, without fail, I enjoy Friday night and Saturday so thoroughly, seeing friends and enjoying time spent with family. Sometimes our hangouts are planned, and we've all divvied up the hors d'oeuvres for The Big Party. More often than not, it's the spontaneous get-togethers that we enjoy the most.
Then Sunday arrives, and, suddenly... despair creeps its way into my heart: the dreaded MONDAY is only hours away.
Mostly it's the guilt that gets the best of me. Guilt, because I didn't write that business plan I've been pondering over for years. Guilt, because I didn't find time to workout. Despair, because I didn't make enough personal progress.
So tonight, as the weight of Monday lays heavily on my shoulders, I've decided to write the Weekend a Dear John letter.
Because, quite frankly, I've had enough of this.
You come and go, oh, so fast. Every seven days you give me hope, then you rip it away even faster.
You tease, you.
I'm sick of it. Your promises of relaxation. Your expertly laid plans, so fun and so addicting.
It's just not fair.
You see, Weekend, I've always had such a special place for you in my heart. I pine for you constantly, and you give me a little - just a little - every week. But it's NOT. ENOUGH.
I want more. I deserve more.
We're supposed to do things together, like write that business plan, paint the laundry room, landscape the front yard, go to church, get to the gym, go to the damn grocery store.
Weekend, I'm going to say something that might sting a bit.
You're too short.
That's right, I said it. You're just not long enough.
A mere 48 hours. That's all you give me? I work so hard Monday through Friday, all in your name. You can't even give me half of what I give you.
I call bullshit.
It's time you give me more. Give me more now, or else.
Or else I might break. In desperation, I beg of you: stop coming and going so quickly.
There's just no way to get 100 hours worth of work done in just two days. I'm no superhuman - I need sleep. And when the window of possibility is so short - just one Saturday and one Sunday - it's hard to remain focused.
I need to squeeze in some relaxation because working 9-to-5 on weekdays is actually a 12-hour commitment, if I'm lucky. I commute an hour (minimum) to work, then work my tail off for 10 hours straight, then haul myself home. Add in get-ready time, kids' bedtime, dinnertime, and, suddenly... time's up.
I'm tired, Weekend. You're supposed to be my break, my reprieve from a rough work week.
You're not enough.
It takes me all day Saturday to decompress from the work week. Then, Cruel Sunday arrives with its Blues in tow. Sure, I'll knock out a productive project or two here and there. Alas, more teasing.
Something has to change.
And mark my words, I will make that change a reality.
Weekend, you and I are through. Finito. I will redefine my relationship with relaxation, with personal productivity, and with health and wellness. You are no longer going to control my life. I will no longer devote my week to work and my weekend to life.
Goodbye, weekend. Hello, work-life-balance.
Tonight, as my weekly round of Sunday Depression kicks my ass, I make this vow:
I, Mama Kate, promise to work for myself, for my family.
I will kick ass at work so I can leave at 5 and not feel guilty.
I vow to ignore you, you wicked Sunday Blues.
I will wake up early.
I will stay up late.
I will write that Damn Business Plan.
I will redefine relaxation. I will relax when I damn well please.
Weekend, you've been fun. But my new life is about to be much funner.