But toward dusk they begin to change, like terrifying harpies, into mean-spirited soul-destroying entities. After having seduced me with a languorously carefree pace, they begin to devour my minutes with a depraved glee until I weep with anguish, having accomplished nothing of so-called merit. I start drinking large glasses of wine at 4 p.m. then retire to bed early, certain that Monday will bring only darkness & despair.
Perhaps I exaggerate a touch.
I would like to a) stop hating the last hours of the weekend and b) return to writing on my blog and subsequently de-stressing about ultimately unimportant or nonexistent issues. So I'm trying Sunday Night Insight, wherein I consider what I've done/eaten/thought/seen over the weekend that feels meaningful in my life so that I can begin the week looking forward instead of down at my feet, pitifully.
Yesterday, I remembered in the nick of time that I was a Board member (oh, and Secretary) of a local theatre group, and we had a 10 a.m. meeting. Got there on time, gave reasonably intelligent input, put together some
Then I napped.
But THEN I got into my boots and hit the town to
Today, the dreaded Sunday, I watched my Cowboys play awfully/play better/almost lose/WIN while my family wandered in & out of the living room, commiserating & cheering as appropriate. Afterward we all ate leftover Chinese leftovers and watched the DVRed Survivor from last week. Now we're reading & writing & editing videos & doing laundry & performing home improvements as Christmas music plays on the radio.
Next, I'm taking myself for a leisurely wander through Trader Joe's to get everything I need for Thanksgiving without having to fight rushed & crabby shoppers.
The insight here [FINALLY; thank you for sticking with me/no hate mail] is that I did wonderfully fun things as well as accomplished some things, and that is good enough for a couple of days.
I can sleep in peace tonight.
Tomorrow I'll start working on hating Mondays less.