Weak Weekend

I am not sure when it happened, or why I expect it to be different. But my weekends are just weekdays. Glorified by the majority of the populace, Saturday and Sunday are seen as roses in the desert. Not by me. It is a time of familial exhaustion. There is the normal day 3:30 am to 1, me and the kids. That's alright. But you throw in those x-factors, and nothing goes as planned.

The odd family event, which is attended in a state that is beyond exhaustion. Short of sleep and often times of temper. Because bless family, but they are the most brutally honest people one might ever encounter. Not in a spirit of malice, I suppose, but with the intent of being right. You learn some very hard truths, and then people move on, and you might just get a smile about how great things really are. For once, you are not the weakest zebra in the herd. It's family, and that spotlight is there so much you begin not to mind.

And then there are weekends that just seem to go south for a variety of reasons. Even the weekend you were sure that you could sail right through. A weekend that procrastinates for you. Pretty convenient, in truth. I just don't like when that procastinating takes place on what could be a "time to oneself" weekend. It was anything but. I am going to share the results of a little quiz I took online the other day.

Justin You Are A Little Monk-ish

You've got a few Monk-ish tendencies, but they're totally natural. You're more go-with-the-flow than grab-the-flow-and-redirect-it-so-it's-straight-and-symmetrical. Keep the delicate balance you've got between keeping order and embracing spontaneity and you'll be set. Mr, Monk might very well be envious of you.

I will admit that is probably a pretty solid description of how I go through things, that is until that river, that flow, shoots off in another direction. Then my balding gets a little more premature. So, in the words of another little bald man named George Castanza, "Serenity now!"