Shotgun Weekend

Ah, the weekend. Two weeks ago, I didn’t have these. If you don’t have a job, go to school, or belong to a religion that observes a holy day of some sort, the week has no beginning, and no end. It’s an endless loop of doing whatever the fuck you want. You don’t know what day of the week it is, and it doesn’t matter. You don’t know what time it is, and it doesn’t matter. If you feel like getting drunk at 10am on a Tuesday, that’s alright. You can go to bed at 4pm, and wake up hungover at midnight. If you feel like using an entire day to alphabetize everything in your house, that’s fine, too. You won’t feel like you’ve wasted time you could have used to do something that was somehow better. You don’t need to feel like you’re having the most fun, the best possible fun, the most fun per ounce, every second of your free time, every single day — because time is one thing you’re definitely not short on.

But this weekend shit is stressful. I don’t need all this pressure to have a good time. I kind of feel like sitting here, doing absolutely nothing, which is pretty much what I am actually doing. But I feel like I could be enjoying myself so much more effectively doing something else. I’m going to regret this later on, I know it. Tonight, just as soon as I realize that there were so many other things I could have done instead, and I missed the opportunity. Definitely tomorrow, when it’s Sunday, and it’s my last chance to get things done (before 5pm when everything closes, at that — talk about pressure). And on Sunday night, when it’s the last minute, it’ll really already be too late. I’ll have to go to bed early to wake up on Monday. Ah, Monday. When I’ll want to shoot myself in the face for having wasted the weekend.

I really kind of like sitting around doing nothing. So why does it feel like such a waste of time? Or, why should I feel like wasting time is not something I should be okay with?