That's What She Said

I discovered something this past summer that changed my life forever. Is that hokey? Sure. Brilliant? Yes. But I deserve some sort of international award for figuring this shit out.

It was Sunday night and the weekend had gone by far too quickly, as usual. However, I realized that I didn’t have the same Sunday anxiety that I normally experience. I tried to piece together why this weekend felt different. I hadn’t done anything spectacularly exciting. And the looming work week wasn’t going to be better than any other. I hadn’t won the lottery or had a massage, but something about how I spent my weekend had calmed my weekly dread that Monday was just hours away.

After I bit more reflection, I realized I had made a momentous discovery, the likes of which should be published and credited to me in every scholarly journal on the planet. I discovered the formula for a truly fulfilling and satisfying weekend. Then I tested it and wrote it down to share, oh so generously, with you lucky bastards.

Step One: Drink.
That’s right, ladies and gentleman, the first and most commonly practiced activity that leads to a fulfilling weekend is getting fucked up. Plain and simple. I’m not advocating two straight days of drunken shenanigans because then you miss out on the other necessary components, but at least one night of blurry, beer soaked fun is imperative for a person to let off a little steam and take a brief mental vacation from reality. If I spend my entire weekend avoiding the juice, come Monday at lunchtime, all I can think about is how badly I need a cocktail. There’s a restlessness brought on by days and days of working and it must be put to rest, doused in alcohol and left to pass out. And if you can craft it so you are drunkity-drunk-drunk but not chillin on the bathroom floor with your new friend Toilet the next morning, you are on your way to an awesome weekend.

Step Two: Do Nothing.
A crucial component of a satisfying weekend is the part where you do nothing. This cannot be overlooked. In fact, write it down. In order to feel truly relaxed and rejuvenated, ready to face another week of jerkoffs riding you, you must spend a chunk of time doing whatever you damn well please. I recommended a minimum of two hours, if possible. However, if you are really good at being anti-social, sometimes you can plan yourself a whole entire day of lazing around the house. Time spent doing nothing comes quite naturally if you participated a little too over zealously in step #1 and your hangover forces you to spend some quality time with your couch (I find it to be more enjoyable, though, if I am not fighting waves of vomit). There is something extremely satiating about answering to no person and no schedule. Don’t even look at the clock. Just let it ride.

{Note: Occasionally, it can get a little boring if the most interesting thing on tv is a VH1 marathon of some sort. So instead, turn on the tunes, sit and listen to an album straight through (I suggest Wilco "Sky Blue Sky" for instance, or Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros "Up from Below" for something a little peppier). A little music therapy can go a long way.}

Step Three: Repent.
The final element to a perfect weekend is the time you spend making up for all the lazy, self indulgent activities you’ve been engaging in. More specifically, it’s accomplishing whatever small or large personal or domestic business you need to take care of but just can’t bring yourself to face during the week. I call it business because it’s grown up stuff. For me, that usually means cleaning, washing clothes and cooking. If I over-caffeinate enough, I can wake up, clean the bathroom, shop and cook for the week, and do a load of laundry, all before my Sunday night tv starts! The bottom line is that no one wants to do this shit. Ever. But if you have achieved steps #1 and #2, the guilt from being an alcoholic slug will motivate you to get all those chores done and give you something to feel successful about. Generally, it also puts you a step ahead for the coming week, which makes Monday that much easier.

There it is, friends. Incorporate these things into your weekend and you can watch the Sunday Surlies melt away.

I'm having sleep troubles! Of all things!

So Zack's gone and waaaaaah poor me, so lonely little Austin. But really, I've been pretty okay. No crying, no tearing of the hair or gnashing of the teeth. Gold star, right? Totally!

Except that I haven't had a good night's sleep in days and it's beginning to piss me the hell off. Because damn; I like sleep. And I sort of depend on sleep to get me through my eight hours of bleary-eyed staring at a computer screen, where I work and write my love notes to you, lovely Internet.

First thing's first. I am going to stop letting my damn cats sleep with me. They are annoying (ELLA) and needy (SAPPHO) and are only cute at 10:30 when I go to bed and they are curled up together at my feet but not so much at FOUR FUCKING O'CLOCK when they are JUMPING ON MY FACE. Because...well, because they are idiots. (Or maybe I'm the idiot. Yeah, that's probably it.) Anyway, the cats are officially Kicked Out.

Also, my subconscious decided to jump start an irrational fear that SOMEONE IS TOTALLY GOING TO COME IN MY SLIDING GLASS DOOR AND RAPE ME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT just as I'm about to drift off. From 34 stories up, they are going to do this. With their springy legs and Stretch Armstrong arms and Spider-Man abilities to climb up buildings and shit. Ha. But still, I stumble out of bed to close and lock my slider (which we rarely close and never lock) and am then awake. Wide Awake. Not anywhere close to sleep anymore. Shit. (Note To Self: Would be good if this fear made itself known before going to bed so as to avoid leaving bed to assuage it. Would also be good if you knew how to work the lock.)

And have I mentioned that I thrash around in my big ol' empty bed looking for a comfortable position? (Moment of Truth here, folks: I'll admit that being able to throw my arms and legs out with abandon was an appealing thought before Zack left...uhhh...not that I do that when he's there, no, definitely not). I spend a lot of time trying to figure out a way to be comfy. Which takes foreverrrrrr. All that flopping around is a really good way to wake oneself up. I should know.

Alright dudes, I am boring myself talking about this so I'm sorry I'm putting you through it, too. I'm going to go have a damn beer and shut my damn mouth. And then sleep. A lot. Weeee!