Eh, where did my weekend go?

This is going to be a terribly self-indulgent post as I'm going to whine about weekends, or rather, how I squander away the precious weekends.

I just find myself caught in this loop of wasted weekends--every week, the same thing happens: Friday morning comes around, and I heave a little sigh of relief and say a bit of thanks. By afternoon, I've already lost the will to even pretend to work, and can be found surfing the web listlessly for amusement or having empty, emoticon-filled conversations that only the idle can muster with pals via MSN.

Friday evenings are not a good time to go out as I'm pretty much exhausted by then, so I usually go straight home, intending to watch all-night TV with some potato chips or cookies. Then, I concede defeat by 9.30pm and quit for the night to catch up on sleep since I've become a weekday insomniac these days.

Saturdays and Sundays would be a mindless blur. Lots of sleeping, channel-surfing, with a dash of reading and blogging and ironing and snacking, or movies and friends and coffee sometimes. That's it. I've slept my weekends away again! On Sunday night I would suffer last-minute, where-did-my-weekend-go panic and try to repent by staying awake as late as possible to cram in some leisure reading or whatever. So when Monday morning comes, I would, bleary-eyed, heave a sigh of resignation and resolve to make the next weekend different.

How nice it would be if I could do a different thing every weekend. Organise a family picnic, attend a concert, go roller-blading. See, the pangs of guilt are starting already.