As I’ve mentioned before, Mondays are my favorite day of the week. It’s your get-out-of-jail free card for any poor decisions made over the weekend. [Poor decisions meaning bad eating habits, skipping the gym, or not conquering your to-do list; nothing that would actually land you in jail. I hope.]
You know what I did this weekend? I ate my bodyweight in Doritos. Have you had those lately? I probably haven’t had a Dorito since SuperBowl Sunday 2014. In case you’ve forgotten (I most certainly did), they are fantastic.
The reason I devoured half a bag of nacho cheese deliciousness is because I went camping. Which was, shockingly, not a half-bad experience. I thought I hated camping, mainly because I don’t understand the point. Why would we sleep outside? We have houses. Houses which, presumably, come with running water.
Although I may have bruised a few ribs from sleeping on the ground and a group of mosquitos made my ankles their dinner, it was a pretty great weekend. The moment I parked my car, I handed my car keys and cell phone to my friend Paula. I never checked my text messages, I never thought about email. For one, we were in the middle of Nowhere, Virginia and there was no reception to be had. And secondly, 95 percent of our friends were with me in the flesh.
If you want to get the most out of your work week, get the most out of your weekend.
When I moved to DC (the first time) five years ago, my friend Derrick gave me some pretty sound advice: Never waste your weekends. I took that advice to heart. I was living in the suburbs at the time, and never came home Friday through Sunday. The moment five o’clock hit on Friday, I’d drive to the gym, run three miles as fast as I could on the treadmill, then drive to Georgetown and crash on my friend Rachel’s futon. We’d go hard Friday and Saturday, drown our hangovers in bottomless mimosas at Sunday brunch, then return to our adult lives on Monday.
Five years later, I have a very, very different take on Derrick’s advice. For one, I’m not twenty-two years old anymore. For two, I’ve found out how delightful Sundays can be without a splitting headache. And three, I absolutely love doing new things! Do you realize how many activities there are besides getting smashed at a bar? So many activities! Like getting smashed in the woods while camping, for instance.
We were picking up the campsite yesterday, and someone mentioned “going back to work tomorrow.” Tomorrow?! I felt as though it was still Friday, and I had just rushed out of work. Until someone dropped that bombshell on me, I thought I still had two days to grocery shop, go to the pool, meal prep, and clean my apartment (which is in shambles, may I tell you).
Having time leap forward a full two days was a bit terrifying, and just a tiny-itty-bit disappointing, but also weirdly gratifying. I felt as though I had taken full advantage of my weekend, had completely removed myself from work and responsibilities, and would be ready to tackle the week—not in spite of it, but because of it.
Yesterday, I still got my grocery shopping in. I called my parents to let them know I was still alive (sometimes they wonder). I even managed a half-assed meal prep session. I paid a $100 parking ticket I got two weeks ago, bugged my bro for his cable password so I could watch Suits online, and threw a load of laundry in the wash.
And I woke up this morning so happy it was Monday.