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

Jackie Mason | August 17, 2006
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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 »

Spirit

I've always felt like my life's dream was to quit my job and spend all my time online. I wouldn't only do that, of course – if I won the lottery and quit my job, I'd also travel and take classes and throw parties and do other things – but let's face it, I'd spend a lot of time working on this site and talking to people online. Last night I dreamed I was a ghost, recently passed. Go »

I Am Not Larry David

Last night, Kelly and I joined some friends from work at Tropicana Field to watch the Rays lose to the Blue Jays, something we do from time to time. In the second inning, I caught a foul ball that came wildly bouncing around our section. Everybody in our group got a kick out of it, and I savored the feeling. Go »

Hello Stupid

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- Aren't all of these books in the clearance aisles the same ones I saw while Christmas shopping? - Sarasota must be really obsessed with astrology, Barack Obama, pet psychology, and Eastern cooking. Or the whole country is. Go »

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How come I can't get through the grocery checkout lane without the clerk or the bagger commenting about how many cans of cat food I buy, which inevitably leads to questions about how many cats I own, how much I feed them, and why I need so many cans? Has nobody in this state heard of stocking up? For their information, I have one cat who eats two 3-oz cans of food a day, which is more than a typical cat but not unheard-of. Go »

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I'm not superstitious, or I wouldn't say this until the closing next month: Kelly and I are buying a house. It's a great house, too, with a guest bedroom and a pool, and the neighbor training horses in the back yard every day, and plenty of room for just about whatever we'd want to do with it, at a lower price than similar houses around here. It's not a hundred percent perfect but damn if it ain't close. Go »