I think the Man upstairs and I need to have a little chat about time.
And how it passes more quickly on a weekend than during the week. How is it that it’s Monday morning? How? Who stole my weekend? Why do I feel more tired than I did on Friday? And man, you should have seen me on Friday, I was dog tucker knackered.
I once thought that New Zealand family life would be less fractious than it was in the UK. Less pressured. Less commuting, more time on the beach.
On Friday afternoon the weekend loomed large and luscious like an oasis in a a desert of stress.
The irony is that I didn’t run around all weekend. I didn’t even do any jobs because my Englishman has devised a roster that details which teen dries which dish and when. Well, actually I did still cook meals. And do laundry. And shop for food.
Honey…about that roster….
But I did also take time to hang out with the family and watch Skyfall on TV on Friday night, which was fun. Who knew that Friday nights at home could even challenge the wild Friday nights when I was a YUPPIE? Does learning to enjoy your home and family mean you’ve succumbed to middle age boorishness, or are you heading towards fully fledged self-actualisation?
The rest of the weekend was a mix of work and sleep.
I didn’t go for a run.
I didn’t ring Mum in Oz. (Bad daughter)
I didn’t spend time with my significant other. Well I did but it wasn’t significant time. And then it was late Sunday night and the panic swept over me like a cold wave on a frigid winter’s beach.
I haven’t done..
I need to do…
Crap, we haven’t paid..
Icy fingers of panic that dig deep into my psyche and drag out the scared shamed child from within.
And then it’s Monday and the weekend’s over and I feel woefully prepared for this week. In every sense. The weekend has passed, the oasis disappeared.
Just like that.
Do you feel like this, this Monday morning?