How I managed to screw up my weekend
Unfortunately, my funk has not involved George Clinton. No, this particular funk is just about being profoundly frustrated in all sorts of areas all at once and feeling restless and like I want to do goofy, impulsive things. But because I am so incredibly Responsible, Dignified, and Grown-Up, I do not do impulsive things and therefore just think about doing impulsive things and how I am too inhibited to do any of them while attempting to reassure myself that I'm being restrained in the name of Productivity.
And, by a very similar process, I am unable and/or unwilling to admit to myself that I just need a weekend to do nothing productive, and thereby also manage to have less fun than I probably ought to if I'm not going to get any work done. So I end up feeling like an underachiever both at being a responsible grown-up and at having a good time.
I mean, if I didn't get a single paper graded this weekend, my room is a total sty, my inbox is back up to 64 messages, and I'm now having to confront the reality of how hellish next week is going to be because of my failure to do much of anything--well, shouldn't I at least be able to grin at the memory of a thoroughly utopian weekend, during which I joyfully made an utter fool of myself or tried something new or whatnot?
Sitting down in a corner at a party to slowly sip Jack Daniels like I was at a Daughters of the American Revolution tea of a Saturday night just really didn't cut it. I'm not going to get into any "True Hollywood Stories" like that!
Dammit. I needed a bouncy castle or a last-minute road trip or something, and I just utterly failed to achieve anything of the sort.