The Sunday Scaries is the anxiety and feeling of dread that sets in on Sunday nights with the impending return to the office, school, or work.
The Sunday Scaries, while often triggered by physical aspects, are purely mental. Come Sunday night, the only thing more tired than your body is your mind and things start to get pretty dicey between the ears. You’re not thinking straight. Cerebrally, you’re in shambles.
Fortunately, we all have the same thoughts. Or, well, a variation of them.
I drank too much.
The basis for Sunday Scaries. Sure, you can have Scaries if you don’t drink. But much like prescription painkillers, the effects of Scaries are amplified by the addition of alcohol and it creates a dangerous situation.
Work is going to suck this week.
The Yin to partying’s Yang. If you loved your job, you probably wouldn’t dread going back to it come Monday. But be honest with yourself: would you hate working on Monday if you weren’t rocking a little bit of a two-day hangover?
That’s what I thought.
I hope there isn’t a picture of me doing that.
Maybe you went to first base on the dance floor this weekend. Maybe you fell asleep in a booth at a bar when all of your friends forced you to stay out. Hell, maybe you were doing some illicit drugs in a public bathroom somewhere à la Johnny Manziel. I don’t care what it is, but what I do know is that you’re praying to everything that is holy that there’s not photographic evidence lingering in the cloud of whatever you just did.
How am I still hungover?
It’s 8 p.m. An award show just came on. You lit your candle in your own personal Panic Room. You toss on your jammies, crack a window, and then wonder to yourself… “How the hell am I still hungover?”
Whether it was a particularly massive weekend for everyone, your immune system got shot to shit because of the devastation you put your body through, or you’re just showing the ill effects of your age, one thing is true: you can’t handle your hangovers like you used to.
Does anyone still like me?
You just spent the entire weekend tippin’ ’em back surrounded by all your cronies, and now you’re sitting alone on your couch watching television with the quiet of a Sunday night surrounding you. It’s the first time you’ve truly been alone since Friday afternoon at work, and the silence is deafening.
You wonder what everyone else is up to. You casually text your friends who may or may not be in bed already. Responses come in… slowly. And then you wonder what you did this weekend to make everyone fucking hate you.
Even though they don’t.
I’m so old.
Fever dreams of career paths and savings accounts flash before your eyes before you think to yourself, “I’m running out of time.” Then, you start putting hasty restrictions on yourself: you’re not eating out anymore, you’re done going to bars, and you’re canceling everything in your life that takes up any of your disposable income. After all, how are you supposed to buy a house one day? Or an engagement ring for your girlfriend? Or a new car? Get it together, man.
But then Thursday hits and you send out the same text to all your friends — “What’re we doing this weekend?”
I didn’t even want to go out this weekend.
Monday Morning: “I’m never going out again.”
Friday Evening: “Shots?”
It’s an endless cycle that you just need to learn to accept.
How much did I spend last night?
You got paid on Friday, and yeah, that paycheck made you feel like Scrooge McDuck. You know you balled pretty hard, but you’re not sure how hard. There you sit, weighing and balancing the decision of checking your bank account. You’ve got a number in your head that you don’t want your balance to sink below. If you check and it’s above that? Scaries be gone. Below? Better turn on Sleepless In Seattle because you’re in for a long one.
Why isn’t HBO Go working?
Something goes wrong. Something always goes wrong. It may not be HBO Go, but something is amiss. You got logged out of your friend’s Netflix account. The DVD is scratched. Your iPhone randomly shut off and you’re facing buying another one for casual $700. Hell, it could even be just a small glass of water falling over on your kitchen counter. But whatever it is? It’s going to affect you for about fifteen minutes and make you reassess everything you’ve ever known in life.
Why are my thoughts yelling at me?
You shut your eyes to go to bed, accepting the weekend is over. But what’s that? Why is your brain working in overdrive? Why is everything racing. Are your thoughts really yelling at you? Better turn the television back on and hope you can fall asleep while reruns of New Girl play in the background, because you’re fucked.
We’ll never know. .
Image via YouTube