Weakened
by Scott Hardie on August 16, 2006

A friend (new GOO devotee Aaron Weiss) once said he had read about a psychological study that found people don't feel like they've had a weekend if they didn't have free time on Friday night. That was my experience this weekend: At the office till eight, then sitting down with pizza and a DVD only to nod off on the couch by nine thirty. I may have woken up refreshed on Saturday morning, but there was this crushing feeling that the weekend was almost over, that sort of numbing dread you feel every Sunday night an hour before bed. I trudged through the weekend working on various tasks and got plenty done, but it never once felt like a weekend.
And the sad part, besides all of it, is that I took out my frustration on myself. I denied myself fun, forcing myself to work on projects to "make the most of it" as though it was a curse to have free time but not enough of it. When Sunday night came, I kept staying up later and later, refusing to go to bed because I felt "cheated" out of my weekend. I entered enough goos into the site to last through September, but by the time I was done it was time to get up and go to work (I needed a six o'clock start that morning for complicated reasons) so I just got dressed and went. All day long, the office spun on an invisible axis while I waged war with my eyebrows to keep them open, and though I tried to blame myself or promise myself I wouldn't do it again, I couldn't. Why do we take out our frustrations on ourselves and only make things worse?
One Reply to Weakened
Logical Operator
The creator of Funeratic, Scott Hardie, blogs about running this site, losing weight, and other passions including his wife Kelly, his friends, movies, gaming, and Florida. Read more »

Signs of Summer
The recent Florida wildfires have been a nasty reminder (I drove through one burned-down forest and it was a terrible sight), but if you need any more indication that summer is here, just step outside: It's scorching. Apparently one local still didn't think it was hot enough to take precautions, as evidenced by the recent explosion in the parking lot when we pulled into a strip mall for lunch. An entire trailer had burned into ash with only a skeletal frame and two melted tires remaining. Go »
I Have Boring Dreams
Real men don't play tennis, and they don't play chess. They play tennis on a giant virtual chessboard where every step of their feet and bounce of the ball instructs the computer where to move the next piece. And they call it chennis. Go »
Fuzzy Logic
Headline: Britney Spears goes bald. I'm her publicist. My client has an album coming out soon. Go »
Intruder Alert
At 5:30am I was awakened by the doorbell and the sound of someone fumbling with my door. Through the peephole, I watched a young man desperately trying to pick the deadbolt. After a couple of minutes, he gave up and stumbled off towards the other apartments. Go »
Not Exactly Red Hot
Her: "What's that CD you're holding?" Me: "Chili Peppers. I still haven't gotten over their album from last summer." Go »
Jackie Mason | August 17, 2006
[hidden by author request]