The weekend seems like a strange, inescapable vortex. One in which time doesn’t exist, yet, simultaneously, time acts as the very force that propels the whirlwind of delusion and false security that so easily traps me.
You’d think that I would have learned by now. I mean, I’ve been experiencing weekends my whole life. In elementary school, I’d get caught up in playdates, Club Penguin and Saturday morning cartoons and neglect the diorama that I promised my mom I could do by myself this time. Now, in college, I’m not even really sure where my time goes. Sometimes those hours go to sleeping, other times to socializing and occasionally they just seem to disappear entirely. I mean, there’s just no way I actually spent four hours after brunch doing absolutely nothing, right?
Regardless, I inevitably find myself scrambling to get myself together on Sunday night, just like I scrambled with the glitter glue, pipe cleaners and plastic figurines in fifth grade. This means that, sadly, nothing has changed (except maybe my love for Crocs and silly bands). This leaves me to consider the possibility that maybe there’s just something about the weekend that really does suck me into some sort of menacing cyclone.
Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Palo Alto anymore.
In all seriousness, I enter every weekend with a detailed list of exactly what needs to get done. I even use colorful pens to make the tasks seem slightly more appealing. Next thing I know, all of my Friday tasks are being pushed to Saturday, most of my Saturday tasks are being pushed to Sunday and the Sunday night list ends up spilling off the page, forcing some things to trickle over to Monday. It’s a total domino effect.
But all domino lines start with the initial knocking down of one singular domino, so the root of the problem can obviously be traced to Friday. Maybe part of it is simply confusion about where exactly the weekend starts. I get out of class at 11:20am, so that leaves my entire day pretty much free. Am I supposed to be doing a little work before starting my weekend? Or does Friday officially fall under weekend territory as soon as I cross the threshold that separates the classroom and the great outdoors?
At least for me, I’m clearly most productive on weekdays, so maybe if I started looking at Friday afternoons as part of the week, then I wouldn’t take three hour naps and idly twiddle my thumbs as my productivity goes down the drain.
As I said earlier, the weekend is defined by a sense of false security. I look at myself as having so much time to get everything done that it justifies getting nothing done.
Oh, I don’t have to do this right now because I have tonight. Oh, well I don’t have to do this tonight because I still have tomorrow. It’s long enough for me to feel safe but not long enough for me to actually be safe. It’s like I’m cruising down the highway without wearing my seatbelt, unaware of the speed the car is actually going. Then the traffic jam appears, the brakes are slammed and I’m sent flying headfirst into the dashboard. Well, that just isn’t going to cut it anymore. I’ve suffered one too many concussions by now.
The weekend is only two days — Saturday and Sunday. And Sunday is really just the day before Monday. Maybe if I start taking advantage of my weekends, I can actually start having less stressful weekdays. Where’s the storm shelter? That cyclone isn’t going to get me this time around.
Contact Kassidy Kelley at kckelley ‘at’ stanford.edu.