friday is such a glorious word. i'm always hopeful on friday. i spend a lot of time each friday making lists and planning out the weekend. friday is an ambitious day for me. in my head, i picture myself on sunday evening with laundry done, grocery shopping complete, five delicious dinner meals pre-prepared and labeled in the fridge, house sparkling clean, checkbook balanced and all looming art projects tidily complete, supplies tucked back into their cubbyholes.
when the reality of sunday evening does arrive, my heart hangs heavily in my chest. how could the hours between 4 p.m. on friday evening and 10 p.m. on sunday night have passed with so little to show for it?
in indiana, where i grew up, the school year always started on the tuesday after labor day. on the evening of labor day, i would sit with my school box, filled with freshly sharpened pencils and a baby pink eraser and i would vow that this year would be different. i would not bite the eraser off my pencils. i would not mark my newest crushes name on my nubby eraser. i would not pick at the stray threads of my denimn covered three-ring binder.
but by the beginning of june, all my promises had been broken and my tattered school box held two halves of the snubbed eraser and short pencils i had sharpened at both ends. my three-ring binder was covered with blue pen scribblings and classmates phone numbers.
sunday night is my june, but it happens every weekend. it's not fun to be disappointed. especially when the one you're disappointed in is yourself.
it doesn't keep me from promising every friday, though, that this weekend will be different.