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Raise your hand if you’ve ever told yourself, in the throes of a disgusting hangover, that you were going to do absolutely nothing next weekend. Now keep your hand raised if you followed through on that self-promise. Everyone should have their hands down, partly because you know you lied to yourself, and partly because you look like an idiot raising your hand at work just because a column tells you to. You’re embarrassing yourself. This is why you got passed over for that promotion.
The point is, every Sunday we lie to ourselves. “I have a lot of errands to run next weekend so I’ll just take it easy.” “I’m visiting my mom so I’ll just be lounging around the house.” “My boyfriend/girlfriend and I are going to do nothing but lie on the couch, eat take out, and have lazy sex.” Just stop. You can lie to all your friends and family, but don’t lie to yourself. Those errands? You’ll knock them out in time for the Saturday afternoon games and end up playing catch up at the bar. Your weekend with your mom will turn into an aggressive mimosa-laden brunch that will have you begging for death on Monday. At some point, you and your significant other are going to get sick of each other and end up at a dinner/drinks with your friends.
It seems as though the elusive weekend of nothingness is a pipe dream, a fantasy you so desperately want to believe is possible, when in truth, there will always be something you have to do. I too had that dream. Until this past weekend, when I accomplished it, and realized it fucking sucks.
Full disclosure, my weekend of doing absolutely nothing is not something I can take credit for. The credit belongs to my surgeon who repaired a torn labrum in my hip last week, immobilizing me and forcing to finally realize my dream of lying on the couch for 72 straight hours. After fantasizing about it for so long, I thought this weekend would be glorious, but there were several reasons it was anything but.
It turns out you can’t drink after a surgery
So apparently the rest of the world knew this (or at least that’s the vibe I got from my doctor’s expression when I asked), but drinking alcohol is frowned upon immediately after undergoing surgery. I never got a clear answer on whether it’s due to reactions with medicine, impairing my body’s ability to heal, or just because doctors are all buzzkills, but it was made very clear to me that drinking even “a couple beers while watching the game” was out of the question. I was disheartened, but became optimistic when I was assured I would be getting a healthy amount of painkillers I could take instead.
Painkillers are the most boring drug ever
For all the issues this country has with opioid addiction, you’d think those opioids would actually be a lot of fun, right? Wrong. I was prescribed 30 Norco and took exactly three of them before I was over it. The “rollercoaster high” from these pills basically makes me nauseous, dizzy, and then sleepy, in that order. Call me old fashioned, but when I do drugs, I want to have stimulating conversation, feel like I’m on top of the world, stay up for 30 straight hours, and get several worrying nosebleeds. I don’t want to have to crutch to the bathroom (a 10-minute process) thinking I’m going to puke, only to take a nap on the bathroom floor because I’m too dizzy to stand. Furthermore, I’m a big fan of pooping occasionally, a part of my life which apparently the makers of this drug did not think I would miss.
There is such a thing as too much football
I know. I know. I didn’t think it was possible either. I mean, I’ve watched about 10+ hours of football every Saturday and Sunday for the past eight weeks and I’ve never felt like it was too much. It took me until early Saturday evening to realize what was wrong – I had over stuffed myself with football. If my weekends from September to February were a meal, football would be the main course. However, there are also some sides to choose from. Drinking. Shit talking my friends. Brunch. Watching my boys get shot down by girls out of their league. Shit, even hiking is a nice reprieve.
All I had all weekend was the main course, and goddamn was I sick of it. I don’t want to alarm you, but by Saturday night I would have gladly gone fucking apple picking if it meant doing something other than sitting on the couch watching football. I did win a cool 5-team parlay on Sunday that helped bring some joy back into my life, but even that was dulled by the crushing weight of boredom.
I’m too good at binge watching shows
Not to brag, but I’m willing to say I’m the best binge watcher in America right now. I know that’s a lofty title, but hear me out. From Friday through Monday, I watched the following: The entire new season of Stranger Things, a half season of Bojack Horseman, a half season of Mind Hunters (not worth watching), several episodes of The Deuce (totally worth watching), and several Showtime movies. Also, as I previously stated, I watched way too much football. I don’t know if I have a very specific and useless superpower, but I’m pretty sure I can watch an hour-long Netflix episode in just under 48 minutes. If only I was this good at literally anything else, I would be a lot richer and way less bored.
It turns out I never really wanted to do nothing
All this time, I’ve been talking about how excited I am to “do nothing” for a whole weekend, and all this time I’ve been lying to myself. Do I hate myself when I wake up hungover on Sundays? Of course. Do I wish I had not drank the night before? Not really. As hard as it is to work 50 hours a week and then dive right into a weekend full of plans and errands, it turns out that’s way better than the alternative. Doing nothing is only fun in small doses, otherwise it’s no longer a break from your life, but rather, the life you need a break from. I’ve learned my lesson. Will I continue taking Fridays off to rest/prepare for the weekend? Of course. But not a whole weekend. Catch me at the bars next Saturday. I’ll be the guy with the cup holder on my crutches..