I was beginning to see a pattern happening every Friday night, but it wasn’t deliberate.
It was exhaustion.
For some reason Friday night has been the end of me.
I clock out.
My body is weary, not tired … weary.
Completely falls into a let’s lie down on the couch and exhale for five minutes … the kind of five minutes that turns into a two-hour veg out session, followed by a crash-out session that last until the crack of dawn.
I blame it on parenthood and the lack of staff around here … you know personal chef, dishwasher, chauffeur, babysitter, cleaning lady, gardener, and masseuse. I have none of that, and I’m sure plenty of you out there also get by on what I have, but come Friday don’t you just wanna crash?
Doesn’t your body say, c’mon now … c’mon now. That’s enough. You take one more step and you’ll be sorry.
And then you do, and you are.
It’s hit me this month and I’ve had no reserve to get me by, I’m on echale!
And so my Friday night wild outings to the Regal Beagle have ceased to exist, and my dedicated musings on my blog have been absent. But I’m back on the wagon tonight, trying my best to get my writing juices flowing after getting a punch-me-in-my-stomach-thanks-for-trying-there-were-so-many-noteworthy-applicant-stories-this-year-so-it-was-hard-making-a-decision-but-we’re-just-not-that-into-you letter.
I got one this week and Ben & Jerry’s became a little richer as I emptied out the freezer section of my local VONS Supermarket. And even though I was still exhausted tonight, still on empty, and wallowing in cookie-dough ice cream I managed to break my Friday writing drought and get something on the page.
So for those of you who follow me regularly I apologize for my Friday absences, I wasn’t off enjoying spectacular three-day weekends, just making the butt print on my couch a little bit more permanent due to fatigue and exhaustion. Not the fake celebrity/actress/singers I’m tired because I’m on tour with my entourage tired. The real kind of tired. The working class, struggling to pay my bills existence, parent of two who hasn’t been on an actual vacation in seven years kind of exhaustion. That kind of tired. Getting one of those it’s-not-you-it’s-me letters didn’t help the cause either.
But it’s all good tonight, I’ve found a pocket of energy and I’m riding that through this post and a little fiction writing later, in the hopes of finally getting the congrats-we-totally-like-you-you’re-in letter.
Yes! Yes! Yes to the hippopotamus!