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 »

Scott's Pet Peeve #8446

Not all mobile phones mix a qwerty keypad with their main numerical keypad, but I have an old Blackberry that does. That makes me especially frustrated by companies that only provide a letter-based phone number without showing a numerical alternative (800-LIKE-THIS). I just went to cancel Nutrisystem, and of course they require you to call a counselor rather than just cancel online, and the only number they give is 888-459-THIN. Go »

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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 »

DMV Mystery

My last car, a 1996 Mercury, was registered in my mother's name, so every year in December (the month of her birthday), the registration sticker would be delivered to her at her house and she'd have to pass it to me to put on the license plate. No big deal. A few months ago, I bought a 2007 Dodge in my name, though she co-signed the credit application since I had no credit history. Go »

De-Gifting

I'd like to think I'm getting better at white elephant games since I play them every December, but evidence proves otherwise: After losing out on a crock pot, a board game, a video game, a sushi kit, a yoga mat, and a nightrobe, I finally took home a Z-grade zombie movie on DVD, and a Ben Franklin t-shirt. Woo! On the other hand, I scored a quesadilla maker at another party that has been pretty good so far. Go »

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Love, Scott

Today is my mother Joan's 70th birthday. I wish her all the happiness in the world, but the occasion brings me feelings of guilt, for I have nothing to give her. Partly that because of bad timing, since she's on a cruise with her boyfriend Andy at the moment. Go »