This morning, when a co-worker asked me how my weekend was, I tried to recall what I did, but I could not remember anything for the life of me. The only thing that sprang to mind was that I finished The Other Boleyn Girl, but that was it. How does that happen? And why does it seem to happen every week? Am I really that old?
Flustered, I looked at my calendar to see if anything would jog my memory. Oh, yes! We went to dinner with JG’s teacher friends after the high school graduation! That’s right. We had a nine o’clock dinner reservation, which kind of blew my mind, because that’s about time to wind down for some shuteye, at least according to the teacher hours we keep. No, on Friday, nine o’clock was time to order up a calamari appetizer and a rigatoni dinner and then proceed to eat myself into a carb-loaded food coma. Fortunately, my dress was made of jersey, so there was no visible ill effect.
Hm. Nothing on Saturday except a tentative friend over for dinner. Right, JG’s old high school friend came over. That was after I slept in until the ridiculous hour of 11am and then stumbled out to the back yard to help JG wash the cars. Ted had fun scratching up mud puddles in the yard and running away from the hose, and now Walter is much cleaner, although the windshield is a bit streaky. That was probably my fault. I flexed my improving knife skills by being JG’s sous chef for dinner preparations, and he grilled up a beer can chicken for his friend and us. The two of them reminisced about high school and caught up on what everyone was doing while they duked it out on the Mario Kart racetracks, and I finished my book and kept Ted occupied.
The calendar showed nothing for Sunday, but that didn’t seem right, either. Ah, that’s because I made dinner that night and prepped chili to go into the crock pot for the next night because JG had plans to play golf after work. Yes, that rings a bell. That’s all I did? But I distinctly recall not getting a nap that day, so I have no idea what I was doing when I was not cooking.
I think I’m still drowsy and punchy from when I was up and awake at 3am on Monday morning. My mind gears were spinning, so I got up and spent the next three hours editing pictures, because that is the normal behavior of an early riser, or something. Bah. It’s just another sign that weekends are too short, and the workday comes too soon. It’s almost vacation time. Almost!
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Weekends are way too short these days; what’s with that? Sunday night we were flipping channels and Tim said “Why is Saturday Night Live on?” I hoped against hope that it was on because it was truly Saturday and not Sunday, but alas, the weekend was only hours away from its end.
So did you like the pasta with pancetta and spinach? I made it several months ago (did I get the recipe from you?) and loved it. Just curious what you thought.
I have so many weekends like that. Someone asks me how my weekend was and I honestly can’t remember one thing I did.
I have that same problem sometimes.
Did you like The Other Boleyn Girl? I didn’t, so I like to find others of my kind.
CUTE DRESS. I am in total heart.
Also, that crockpot reminds me of the slow cooker battle that Torsten and I had. I wanted to register for one, he thought it would be a waste of space that we would never use. I won the battle in that we are registering for one, but it remains to be seen whether he’s correct about us never using it.
Weekends are elusive, aren’t they? I’m hoping that my summer vacation time doesn’t slip away so easily but if past summers are any indicator it definitely will.
I get weekend and weekday amnesia.
Everyday has just really started to blend together.
Hopefully that funk will stop once I got to Disney.
This is NOT on topic, but my feedreader just now told me that you had a new post - 10 new posts, to be exact. I was wondering where you had gone. Maybe your whole weekend, along with several blog posts, disappeared into a spinning black hole vortex for a short period of time, and THAT’S why you feel somewhat amnesia-ish AND why I didn’t know you had posted.
It’s all making sense…
Whenever people ask politely how my weekend was, I always reply that it was great. Then they ask why it was so great, and I feel stupid saying “uh… I watched some TV… vacuumed the house…. went to yoga and the grocery store… and, that’s it. I think.”
It was great because it was a weekend! All weekends are great.
I started writing down everything I do so that I can keep track of what I did. Otherwise, I’ve got no memory of it.
I feel like this about my weekends all the time… where do they go?
What did you think of The Other Boleyn Girl? I thought it was great fun! Certainly not high falutin’ literature but still more fun than your average brand-name-dropping chick lit.
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