If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out

I used to get Sunday Night Syndrome almost every weekend. You know, that sinking, miserable feeling that Monday is coming, and you can’t stop it, even if you squint your eyes as hard as you can to see if just once, just this BLOODY ONCE, you can transcend time and space to make it Sunday for one more day? I used to get it so bad that I couldn’t enjoy Sunday at all. Weekends consisted of Friday night and Saturday, and by Sunday morning, a full-fledged depression had sunk in, and just thinking about the misery that would befall me on Monday mornings would be enough to send my stomach into lurching misery. I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night, not only from the shift in schedule by sleeping a bit later, but from paralyzing anxiety because I had to go back to work. Truthfully, Mondays were never as bad as I made them out to be in my anxious mind, but it didn’t matter, because I’d already made myself so incredibly sick over the possibilities. In retrospect, I could have stood for some serious medication, therapy and maybe a new job, my God.

Anyway, I don’t get that anymore, and in fact, in recent years, I’ve been able to thoroughly enjoy the entire weekend, right down to the bittersweet end. Most of this has to do with the fact that I genuinely love what I do every day, and while I dread the sound of the alarm every morning, I don’t dread what follows. God, I had no idea what a difference enjoying what I do could make on my life, even impacting how I enjoy my time off. And while this is all well and good, I cannot deny that when I have a weekend like this one, I am still a little sad to see it go. It was, in a word, delicious, and I could use seven more days exactly as these, laid out like a big plushy mattress for me to roll around in.

I finally succumbed to the neverending craving and made cupcakes this weekend, but I am shamed to admit, I chickened out. Hello, Duncan Hines, nice to meet you! Oh, your cousin Betty Crocker makes whipped frosting? I’ll call her, thanks! And that’s exactly what I did, because at the end of the day, actually having cupcakes that were edible were the single most important thing that was to happen this weekend. I needed those cupcakes in a way I can’t properly explain – God, I was dreaming about them, lying awake at night plotting to fill my day with cupcakes. At least three nights this past week, I went to the gym with a wallet full of fresh dollar bills with the intent of hitting the grocery store to buy some fluffy cupcakes with plasticky frosting, negating the calories I’d just burned off, of course. Incidentally, I have been pro-cupcake even before they came back into vogue. The fact is, there’s nothing better than a perfectly-portioned piece of cake in a handy little wrapper just for you. You are not expected to share the cake, there is no need to jockey for a bigger slice, and the frosting is always perfect. Fact is, cupcakes are pretty generous in size, and though it pains me to admit it, a single cupcake really is quite satisfying (although that doesn’t mean that I don’t crave uh, nine or 10 at a time. I do. But I don’t do it. Sigh.).

Anyway, the cupcakes were really just the beginning of one of the laziest, most decadent weekends ever, and man, it was awesome. Fact is, I’m not a particularly active person, hence, the gym-going, because if I didn’t do that, I am pretty sure my muscles would atrophy and I might die. I find nothing greater than lounging around reading, watching movies, baking cupcakes and napping, and that’s exactly what we did all glorious weekend long. Both mornings, I stayed in my pajamas well past 1 p.m., preferring instead to loll about downstairs with the dog, watching old movies while she snored in the crook of my neck. Eventually, I would rise and dress for an absurdly leisurely lunch with Adonymous, then resume my position on the couch, dog in arms, cat at feet, book in hand or movie on the television. Sometimes the rhythm of her breath would be enough to lull me back to sleep for a few minutes, and God, did I mention how wonderful it was? I think I left the house for a grand total of two hours the entire weekend, and I really don’t think I was awake for 12 hours out of either day. The fact that I know weekends like these will be fewer and, uh, farther between (non-existent, I know, I know) when we have kids, makes them that much sweeter.

I am just so sad to see it end.

Anyway. One of the movies I watched on Saturday was an old favorite, Harold and Maude. Say what you will about the cheese factor of this little number, but I never tire of sitting down and getting completely lost in Maude’s zest for life, and in Harold’s hilariously cold indifference (until of course, he meets Maude). If by chance you’ve never seen it nor heard of it, the film is about a young rich kid of about 20 who is, on some level, obsessed with death and suicide, regularly attending strangers’ funerals for fun and enjoyment. At a funeral, he meets Maude, a 79-year-old senior citizen (and Holocaust survivor) who teaches him how to live and, uh, love, in every sense, including the one you might not imagine between a 20-year-old and a near-octogenarian. And if it sounds overly earnest, dude, it IS, it really is, but it’s a delightful ride all the same, and boasts a killer soundtrack from Cat Stevens. It’s in the regular rotation on TMC, should you be looking for something to TiVo this week, and in fact, I’m urging anyone who hasn’t seen it to run out and do so as soon as possible. As lame and twee as it sounds, this is one of those films that changes how I see the world, even if only for a little while.

I hope your weekend was as delightful. Happy, uh, Monday. Boo.

*Cat Stevens, the theme from Harold and Maude. Happy sigh.

18 comments December 10th, 2006