It hit me again last night.
The process goes like this: Friday at 6pm, my weekend begins. I am so ready to relax, go out and grab a bite to eat (the kitchen is closed for business on Friday night. No cooking dinner, only snacks are available), come home and chill out, watch a movie, do some writing, spend time with the fam, etc. Saturday morning comes. A good day to do house projects, maybe put in a couple hours of work, do chores, catch up with friends, date night with my hubby, etc. Onto Sunday. A time to sleep in, make a big breakfast (or go out for breakfast), watch a movie, run, write, watch a football game or two, and sometimes I even stay in my PJs all day if I so desire (yeah I know, L-A-Z-Y). And then as Sunday evening descends, I’m hit over the head by that terrible, overwhelming case of Sunday night anxiety.
When I was in high school, there was nothing worse than Sunday night. This meant the end of sleeping in, doing nothing, and hanging with friends. Sunday night caused my brain to switch into dread mode thinking ahead to a week of getting up for the next five days at 6:00am, boring classes, ridiculous teenage drama, homework, and tests.
As an adult I still go through this, not exactly like high school, but there’s still that sinking feeling that another weekend is almost over, good old Monday is looming, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it from rearing its ugly head.
Messages from my brain begin their attack with all the things I have to do in the soon-to-be-here week. Usually an upset stomach ensues or a headache forms just above my eyebrows. The peaceful easy feeling starts to disintegrate and at bedtime the insomnia takes over. I watch TV or read in the hopes that my body and mind will shut down. But usually the glowing numbers displayed on my alarm clock just keep marching ahead: 1am, 1:30, 2:00, 2:30… zzzzzzz.
Next thing I know that dreaded beeping sound yanks me out of my comatose happy place. Irritated, I silence the screaming little pain-in-the-you-know-what device. Then lie back into my pillow allowing the sudden turbo charged heart rate to calm down as I wipe the sandmen (or as my kids call them, eye boogers) out of the corners of my eyes. With an irritated sigh I unenthusiastically remove myself from the cocoon of my warm soft sheets and blanket to greet yet another Monday morning. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, huh? Well, maybe some day…