I don’t know what it is about 3pm on a Friday afternoon that gives my subconscious the wherewithal to start planning The Weekend I Get My Shit Together, but it happens (like clockwork) every week. And I have the neurotic to-do lists in my notebook to prove it.
6pm: Leave work
6:30-9pm: Shower, do laundry, do nails, clean room, FaceTime parents, pluck eyebrows* (*only if there’s time!)
9pm-1am: Meet friends for drinks & Uber home
1am: Fold laundry
7am: Early morning shoot in Tribeca
8:30am: Walk home from Tribeca, stop at Trader Joes on way back
10am-2pm: Write three blog posts and respond to comments
2pm-6pm: Start writing book (SERIOUSLY)
6pm-7pm: Plan trip!
And so on and so forth. Every single week. I’m not sure why I’ve designated my weekends to be the only time of the week where I get my personal and professional life in order, but as you may have guessed by the fact that a) This is the first time I’m writing anything non-work related in over two weeks and b) I’m still not famous, this plan is clearly not working out for me.
It may be that because, between spending all morning comparing prices on cheddar cheese at Trader Joe’s and penning the Next Great American Novel, there’s not much time allotted for lazy human behavior. And being that I happen to like lazy human behaviors including—but not limited to!—hanging out with friends (or enemies), going on walks, and binge-watching Tina Fey interviews on YouTube, this has presented quite the problem. I plan my weekend to-do list, procrastinate doing it, feel guilty for not doing it, then come up with 2-4 reasons why I was perfectly justified in not doing it in the first place. They generally include the weather or not wanting to waste a good boob day by staying indoors. It’s a vicious cycle.
Which brings me to now: 11:58pm EST on Tuesday, April 17, sitting pretzel-legged in my living room, trying once more to get my life in order via a different form of written list. This one is more public (hi!) and is intended to shame me into productivity by writing out all the lies I tell myself on the weekend so I…er…stop doing them? What a stunning display of psychological theory. I’ll be expecting my PhD any day now.
THE LIES I TELL MYSELF ON THE WEEKEND
A tale of failed promise and naive optimism by one Elly Leavitt.
1. I know it’s 8:30, but I can totally be ready to do drinks by 9.
2. I’m going to be super healthy and have a smoothie to beat this hangover instead of a $2,50 bagel from the deli underneath my apartment.
3. Actually scratch that, because I’m not going to have a hangover.
4. This is the weekend I finally get my library card.
5. I’ll spend some quality “me” time and go sit in the park, alone, to read a book I checked out with the aforementioned library card. Something really deep and moving and maybe of British extraction. Not the latest InStyle.
6. I will not Uber. I will take the subway like a regular ol’ plebeian.
7. Nix on the late-night McDonalds.
8. Nix on the 2pm McDonalds.
9. I will get over my fear of rejection and start sending out freelance pitches, write a few blog posts, and maybe get started on that non-fiction essay I’ve been plotting since January. All these great bodies of literature will be greatly received and I’ll be shortlisted for a Pulitzer immediately.
10. I’ll say no to plans and actually stay in on Saturday to enjoy a nice bowl of oatmeal and watch a documentary, as the Amish intended.
11. I’ll figure out what the hell a 401K is once and for all.
12. This will be the weekend I attempt a foray into this new wellness trend I’ve been hearing about. First discovered in a small Spanish town, it’s colloquially known to the locals as “sleep”.