It always starts out the same way. It starts with best intentions, ambitious ideas and misty-eyed optimism. No matter how many times it falls apart or how many times I curse myself for doing it, I just keep damn well doing it. And you know what they say about repeating the same action, over and over again, but expecting a different result....Ya.... I just keep thinking that this time will be different. That I will be different. But, this past weekend, I did it again. I cancelled my Friday night plans.
I mean, weekends have always seemed short AF. Only two days to see family and friends, to do things with your littles, do get stuff done around the house, to get groceries and to catch up on Dateline. I am sure some people may do some of these things during the week, but this Mama is no overachiever. After working all day, the thought of stopping on my way home, or even more appalling, going back out, once I get home, is horrifying. I'm not a masochist!I legit start thinking about my pajamas around 3pm. This is the same time that my eyes start burning, the bottom lids feeling like they are dragging on the floor and I am contemplating the validity of being able to sleep with your eyes open. Is that really possible, though? If so, how exactly is it done? Asking for a friend.
Due to my intentionally uneventful weekdays, I want to do as much as possible, on the weekends. At least that is how I feel, at the beginning of the week. Friday night gets a plan, Saturday morning gets a plan, Saturday night gets a plan. Everybody gets a plan!!!!! Anxiety loves plans. She refuses to "just see how things go." She needs dates, she needs times, she needs reservations, she needs punctuality. She needs to shut the f**k up.
Yet, as the week progresses, so does my lack of energy. By Friday afternoon, I am a bleary-eyed mess. Hair standing out in every direction, black circles under my eyes, in urgent need of pizza. And pajamas. And snuggles with my babies. And murder docs. Except, my vivacious earlier week self, made plans for my apathetic, or maybe just pathetic, later week self. Not only do I have to make it through the rest of the afternoon, but I am supposed to go out, when it is dark, and try and be someone that people would want to hang out with? I feel like the yawning every 10 minutes might give me away.
Here's the thing. I am not a weekend-warrior type of girl. I am a weekend-we-need-a-nap, type of girl. I don't have FOMO. I have FOFO. Fear of Friday Obligations. That's Fofo sure. Nevertheless, there I am, making Friday night plans, every week, and then cancelling every Friday afternoon, like an asshole. Lucky for me, a lot of my friends also suffer from FOFO. We are just a sad bunch of FOFO MOFO's, trying to live our best lives.
Will I stop making Friday night plans? If history is any indication, that would be a no. Will I cancel those plans 85% percent of the time? Yes. That is a definitive yes. It is not that I don't want to see you or spend time with you. It is just that the FOFO has made me go loco. Too much?
Does Mommy need to lose her shit?
Not this week.