a weekend by any other name…

Well hello, weekend, if that is your real name. It feels like it’s been such a long time since we’ve had an earnest little chat. That’s probably my fault. I’ve been too busy trying to keep with all the crazy shit the week throws at me in order to give you the attention you deserve. I get that I haven’t been doing the things you want to do. It’s been all running the kid back and forth to dance classes, rehearsals, and performances. And work, yes. I’m able to admit that. I’ve been working during “our time”, weekend. And then there are the chores. Oh the chores. And the errands.

Lets face it, even when I’m not playing ballet mom, working, and doing chores I haven’t been giving you what you need, have I? I know that watching me lie on the couch exhausted from a long full week as I binge watch shows on Netflix and Hulu isn’t your idea of a good time.

Wow, I was about to get defensive. I was going to be funny and say “But hey, those shows don’t watch themselves!” But that was just me trying to make myself feel better about a situation that needs some work. Okay, a situation that needs a lot of work. You deserve far better than you’re getting from me. There are folks who give their weekends everything.

Everything!

They wake up early to romance the day, go on a hike in the beautiful forested hills, enjoy a delicious light breakfast, then it’s off to a charming little coffee shop for a flight of locally roasted espresso with carefully selected treat pairings. That’s all before they head off to the coast for an afternoon of walking on the beach. Or to the river or mountains to enjoy the great outdoors. Or perhaps to a concert. Or a play.

You’re lucky if I go out for brunch and a couple of bloody marys before I decide it’s nap time instead of the normal working, doing chores, and collapsing on the sofa.

This weekend will be no different. Here it is Saturday afternoon and I’ve already vacuumed, argued with a surly tween, played ballet mom, made two sub par meals, washed and dried two loads of laundry (but folded nothing), hung a framed poster in the kitchen, worked for 2 hours, and watched an episode of an awful show. I have no illusions that today is going to get any more exciting for either of us. There’s overseeing homework, more ballet shuttling, chores, chores, chores, grocery shopping to do, and if I’m lucky another few episodes of binge watching an awful show I started last night and just want to get through quickly so I can start some other show which is equally bad. Tomorrow will look pretty similar but with a stream of Star Wars movies playing in the background.

I think what I’m trying to say here, and maybe I should have just started with this, is that it’s not you, weekend. It’s me. I don’t think that I can be the kind of person you need right now. The kind of person you deserve. So let’s just stop this charade. Let’s stop playing this little game where we pretend that I can be someone I’m not just because your two days happen to begin with the letter S.

You’re just a part of the week to me, weekend. Just a part of the week. But we can still be friends, right?

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