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 »

Windbag
I don't know what Polaroids he has of whom, but somehow Tom Skilling has elevated himself to some kind of all-important weather-broadcasting god. When I grew up in Chicago, I watched him gradually get a bigger and bigger budget for his animated graphics, and gradually get a larger and larger timeframe to deliver his dull reports. By the time I left town, he had a whole 20 minutes of the hour-long midday newscast for the fucking weather, and boy did he find trivia to fill it: Average dew points across Cook County on this day in 1854, theta-e temperature predictions for every Cubs home game next season, you name it. Go »
R.I.P. Harry
It's been a melancholy weekend since learning of the passing of a family friend. Fifty years ago, Harry and my mother went on a date. They didn't quite click, but she liked him enough to introduce him to her best friend, and sparks flew between them that soon led to marriage and a lifetime of gratitude to my mother for introducing them. Go »
What We Kept
One winter in the mid-1970s, my grandfather Donald was hospitalized with a serious infection in his foot. Being diabetic, he went out of his way for years to avoid any infections or other hazards, but his luck had run out. On Christmas Day, he was informed by the doctors that they would have to amputate his foot the next morning. Go »
When Anxieties Attack
It feels weird to write about a fairly minor health incident in my life after someone else on this site just went through a major crisis. But people have been asking since Kelly's cryptic Facebook comment on Tuesday morning and I guess I should explain. I had been working every night last week on a project for work and getting a couple of hours of sleep each night, which turned into an all-weekend thing, and the avalanche of tasks didn't stop when the site launched early Monday morning. Go »
Powerless
Going without electricity in Florida can be a miserable affair. You sweat non-stop. You sleep fitfully at best, waking up in pools of your own body fluid. Go »
Jackie Mason | August 17, 2006
[hidden by author request]