289. Dude, Where’s My Weekend?

I find it terribly unsettling and upsetting that I barely had any chance to enjoy my weekend.

On Friday, after retiring early from work on account of my migraine, I slept the rest of the evening away and woke up feeling much better at 8P.M. After a little dinner, I realized that since I was scheduled to lead worship in church on Sunday, I had to get the songs figured out. And what was what I did.

On Saturday, I woke up early to have some breakfast, and went to have music practice for 3 hours starting at 10A.M. and ending at 1P.M. Following that, I had to pay my ex-boss a visit to check out something she needed my help with, which turned out to be more proofreading. At the same time, the pressure came in to get some scheduling done for an upcoming video project. Before I knew it, it was already time to attend the Saturday service, and there I went until 7P.M.

Got back home after dark and remembered that I had to prepare for Sunday morning. With a voice failing after 3 hours of belting out notes, I knew I had to rest early, and got some perfunctory tasks done before heading to bed at 10.30P.M.

This morning, woke up, went for run-through at 8.45A.M., attended the church service, had a quick lunch, attended another music practice until 3P.M., got guilt tripped into spending 2 hours playing computer games, spent half an hour at the gym, had dinner, and now I’m here.

It’s now 11P.M., and I feel like I hadn’t even had a weekend.

(for those of you wondering how does someone get guilt tripped into playing computer games, the story goes like this: I agreed to join in some good LAN-gaming fun some months ago, but had to cancel after making said person wait for an hour, because I had work to figure out. Said person remembers it to this day, and used it as considerable leverage to make me give away my available free time)

A weekend isn’t a weekend, IMHO, until I get at least 3 hours in which I’m entitled to do absolutely nothing. Laze on the couch with a Stephen King novel; lay in bed wrapped up in blankets; play Skyrim; whatever. I’m free to do anything I want. The same logic applies to holidays. If, at any point during that 3 hours, I get a call to look at some work, or I have a visitor to entertain, it is automatically disqualified as rest time.

Which is to say, my weekend was hardly a weekend. And now that I’ve gotten all those things out of the way, it’s already time to head to bed to rest up for a new week at work starting tomorrow.

(meanwhile, on the work whatsapp chat, my new coworkers are talking about how they drank so much they almost got drunk. Or something close to that. I’ve never been one to pay a lot of attention to texts in which excessive consumption of alcohol is mentioned)

But what is a man to do? How did the saying go – time and tide waits for no man? While I’m not too sure about tide, time had most definitely passed me by, evidenced by the little clock at the bottom right hand corner of my computer screen.

Suck it up. Chest out. Chin up.

Resist urge to belt Let It Go.

Carry on.

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