The Take Over, The Breaks Over

7 05 2007

For those of you in the UK (or any other country that has a public holiday on the first Monday in May, although I do believe it is just us) I hope your three day weekend was fun. Mine was the usual double-edged sword; I had fun but it was over far too quickly. To be fair, that’s pretty much the pattern of weekends in general. The errands on the to-do list pile up Monday to Friday and for many, and I know I fit into this category, the weekend merely becomes a time to catch up on the stuff you have to do. For my own part I suppose I can blame my own procrastination as I have a nasty habit of leaving stuff until the weekend, figuring that I’ll have plenty of time to do it in, and it won’t feel like such a chore mixed up with the relaxing. What happens instead, however, is that I leave so much to do on the weekend that there really isn’t anywhere near enough time to unwind. Which sort of defeats the whole point.

Three day weekends only seem to make this all the more acute. When you think you have three days off, the urge to put stuff until the weekend grows. Worse yet, it actually extends into the weekend, so that when Saturday rocks round, instead of doing the errands you’d normally run on a Saturday, these get put off until the Sunday, with Sunday’s tasks getting shoved onto the Monday. However because it’s a holiday, the demands of your social life are that much greater too. For the same reason you feel like you really should make the most of the time off and “do” things, socially speaking. In an effort to balance the two you inevitably fail and end up going back to the working week feeling like you’ve not only not caught up on the various tasks you needed to do, but also failed to fully enjoy the time off and make the most of the extended break. You compare stories with your mates and you sit in amazement wondering quite how other people manage to fit so much into the same 24 hours.

Looking back on my childhood I can’t ever recall feeling this way about three day weekends then. Do we, as we grow up, somehow lose our appreciation of these things? Do the harsh realities of the real world, from which we spend the majority of our childhood shielded, make us jaded and unable to enjoy the simpler things? Of course adults have fun, but doesn’t it all seem so much more contrived than the fun of yesteryear? It just seemed so much easier to have fun back then. Or maybe I’m just getting old before my time.


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