When I was young but old enough, my weekends usually began on a Thursday and lingered into Monday afternoon. The work week, though admittedly much shorter for me per my previous statement, always seemed unbearably long and excruciatingly boring. I yearned for the excitement and freedom that was synonymous with weekends.
Looking back on those times, my weekdays consisted of making plans, arranging transportation and picking out clothes for the coming weekend. The work week would be a blur of tediousness and the thought of it would leave me with an ache in the pit of my stomach, wondering if this monotony would forever be my lot in life. The weekends being my only solace, the only sustenance in my life. (I was quite fatalistic back then)
I would stay out until dawn, drinking and dancing and when the sun broke into the fun, it was time to head home, change into daytime wear and go to the lake or the mountains or the desert for the day. At sunset, we would head home and change once again for another round of the debauchery which comes when youthful desires and the first tastes of freedom are combined in a cocktail more potent than anything available at any club or bar. This went on nonstop until the work week returned. There was no recovery day, no need for rest, just a never ending cycle of sensation.
I had lost the dreams of childhood, both for a successful career and for making a difference in the world. My goals had become much easier to obtain. A good buzz, a good dance club, and good friends to enjoy it with. I had good intentions initially but my first night out blew those intentions right out of the water, leaving them lying on the shore, not even twitching unless you watched them very, very closely. You know what they say, "Opportunity may knock only once, but temptation leans on the doorbell."
I wonder how my Girls will meet the world. That time is approaching rapidly, causing night sweats and sudden panic whenever that reality decides to come bubbling to the surface of my consciousness. I have tried to teach them as much as I can but the fear for their futures paralyzes me. When I tell my Mom how I'm feeling, she reminds me that all a parent can do is give their children the tools they need to succeed, hope for the best and make sure to lay out a safety net, just in case.
Upon reflection, I realize they will probably do a better job of it then I did. I'm pretty sure I survived by sheer luck or a very diligent guardian angel. I'm certainly not the same person I was in my twenties and though I can look upon my former self with fondness, I don't want that life back and I don't imagine she would much care for mine.
These days, my weekends are much more tame and my biggest desire is to try to work in a nap at some point in the next couple of days. Strangely, this doesn't bother me in the least. My life contains a rhythm, a melody composed by myself and the people I love. It's not the life I dreamed of in my childhood, my teens or even into my twenties but it's my song and I sing it with gratitude.
Enjoy your weekend.