As things stand, I think I'm starting to not like the weekends.
I know, I know. Weekends are really the only time when you get to rest, I know. But now that I live alone, weekends are when I have little to do. Once I've checked off my errands for those two days - do the groceries, do the laundry, clean the bathroom, perhaps get a weekend project done - you're left with all this idle time, and that's a lot of time where these thoughts about how things went wrong and how you fucked it all up - and, well, how you actually didn't, if you think about it even more - come in. That isn't helpful, not when you're trying to reorient yourself to your new reality, to relearn everything you thought you know about yourself, more or less.
So, once all of the things I have to do is done, I end up settling in this vicious cycle. Let's say, after lunch. I go to bed, fire up YouTube on my phone, and watch random things. Or rewatch not-so-random things. After a few minutes, I get sleepy. I mean, I've done a lot already, I think, so perhaps I can rest. I take a nap, and since it's the weekend, I don't turn my alarm on. An hour passes. I wake up. I wonder what to do next. Repeat.
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