I hate long weekends.
And by I hate long weekends, I don’t actually mean I hate long weekends. On the contrary, I love long weekends! It’s more the coming-back-to-reality-after-a-long-weekend part about long weekends that I’m not so fond of. Adding insult to injury, when I came downstairs this morning, I stepped squarely in a little mound of fresh cat puke while barefoot. I knew without looking what it was. Few things squish beneath your toes so tellingly. Trust me, that did not make my Monday morning any better.
So, while I do love long weekends, I also hate them, because it’s so much harder to go back to work after. And I happen to be very fond of my job. I can’t imagine how awful today would feel if I didn’t like my work! And I’ve noticed, it’s exponentially harder to go back to work the longer you’ve had off. Which is probably why it took me months to adjust to working again last year after being unemployed for twenty months. A three-day weekend is tough to come back from, but I remember returning to work after six days off last Christmas. That was a bitch. I am not ashamed to admit that I cried, either.
Maybe I’m weird, but I start to obsess over how much time is left on my long weekend even while said long weekend is still taking place. Thursday evening as we climbed into bed I was thinking, this is my second night already…tomorrow there will be just two left, instead of four! By Friday afternoon I was downright miserable, because the “extra time off” was already gone, and I was left instead with just a normal two-day weekend at that point. Knowing how quickly those go by, I wanted to stretch it out as much as possible, so I tried little tricks like getting up really early Saturday morning – more hours in the day, right? – but that backfired because then I was nodding off really early Saturday evening. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, you know? I sometimes feel like long weekends aren’t worth it, because all I ever do is worry over the fact that they’re going to come to an end much too quickly, and that depresses me.
God, I’m already dreading our long four-day weekend in October when Tara and I go to Denver. It’s going to be wonderful and amazing, which means it’s going to be awful when it ends.
Despite my neuroticism, it was a pretty good long weekend. The 4th of July was low key. I never even left the house, and actually had to make an effort to see a few fireworks from the bedroom window after dark. Such a contrast to years gone by, when I would spend $100 on fireworks and the whole neighborhood-where-I-used-to-live would put on a show that rivaled many official fireworks programs. It was a very big deal, but also a vestige of my old life, one that I’ve never bothered to rekindle. Now I’m content to relax on the patio with drinks (which we did) and barbecue some meat (which we did) and watch TV while other people light off fireworks (which we did). I figure, I’m saving money that way, and I have better odds of getting through the day with all my limbs intact (barring some grotesque garbage disposal accident, of course). Friday Tara had to work, so I took myself out to lunch and the movies. My lunch destination was Pok Pok, a little Thai restaurant that has been getting a ton of hype in Portland the past few years. They are known for their fish sauce chicken wings, and with good reason: they were to die for. Best wings I’ve ever had, period. The place was packed so I found myself seated at the bar, next to a guy from San Diego who was in town for the weekend. We struck up a conversation, and he even shared a shrimp chip with me. Do you realize how unusual that is? There are three things guys never share: food, fashion tips, and relationship advice. It’s an unwritten code, but somehow we broke 1/3 of it on Friday. Cool dude, and that got me to thinking about all the random conversations Tara and I have had with random people in random clubs and random restaurants at random times, like the girl at the Typhoon show who we bonded with for hours, only to never see again once the band had finished their encore and left the stage. For a brief moment in time you’re in complete harmony with these people – talking, laughing, making wry observations, etc. And then, poof! They’re gone from your life forever. Like the guy from Pok Pok. For an hour he was the center of my universe (man, that sounds creepy, but you know what I mean…right?!), and then it was like he disappeared from the face of the earth. I never even caught his name, even though he shared a shrimp chip with me. Weird.
This post is getting randomer by the minute…
Saturday Tara and I drove out to the Mount St. Helens area for some hiking. June Lake and Lava Canyon. The weather was ideal and the fresh air was invigorating. There’s nothing like the sweet smell of a mountain forest, I’m telling you. Sunday we ran errands and chilled around the house. Monday I stepped in cat puke. Now we’re all caught up.
So, what do you think? Are long weekends worth the post-bliss agony? Or am I just a freak? Hey…at least I didn’t get trapped in an elevator.
- My Weekend in an Instant // July 4th – 7th (sageandsparkle.com)
- How you can get your groove back – after a long weekend. (ypcvblog.wordpress.com)