There is a time and place for everything.
Sunday's are for peace and quiet, relaxation and centring yourself before the work week ahead. Mondays are for stress, sadness at the death of the weekend and determination to start the week strong. Fridays and Saturdays are for partying, the explosion of the pent up inner legend within all of us that's been kept away during the week.
Weekends give us the opportunity to hit the reset button, take a deep breath, reflect on the week before and prepare for the week ahead.
Up until today I never truly appreciated the 'weekend.'
I had spent a significant amount of my weekends working, having spent the week caught up at school the weekend gave me the opportunity to work for money, it allowed me the smallest fraction of responsibility throughout my early teen years and forced me to stay busy.
This weekend was my first 'proper' weekend. I had no plans, no events set in stone or even talked about. I had 48 hours ahead of me to do with how I pleased and I was floored.
I woke up on Saturday morning at 8 am and stared around my room searching for inspiration. I didn't want to sleep in, that felt like a waste of time but I didn't want to make plans with anyone either. I opted on menial tasks, this and that, filling the hours with whatever seemed a good idea.
I cleaned the house, something I hadn't done in the small space during the week between work, the gym, cooking and walking my dog. I listened to music, did two loads of washing (and actually hung it out!) Visited Kmart for one thing and walked out with twenty. I reorganised my files that had been sitting in the corner of my room for weeks, took my dog on a lengthy walk and picked up my sister from the bus station as a surprise to my mum.
I did what felt right in the moment.
I didn't stop and think about what anyone else would think about what I was doing, there was no-one in my house but me so I danced in my socks in the kitchen, cleaned out the garage, watered the garden and just let myself exist with no expectations.
I went out Saturday night with no plans set in stone. This spontaneity wasn't a normal part of my life and I surprised myself when I arrived at a party I'd been invited to, knowing I only knew two or three people. I talked to strangers, made new friends and even met my supposed twin? *see photo.*
This party turned into a Uber of three into the city, making new friends in the line to 88 and dancing to loud music while I sobered up under the flashing lights.
I've never felt more relaxed while surrounded by so many people. My pulse wasn't skyrocketing, I wasn't sweating, constantly readjusting my clothes or looking around the club for validation of my old lady dancing.
When Sunday morning rolled around I felt recharged. I drove over to my mum's, hung out with my sister and started reading through my first weeks lecture power points. I read a book, played music through my room and let my new housemates settle in to their new home.
And now here I am. Writing this, contemplating what I'll do for the next few hours before I go to sleep.
If this is what being an adult is I'm here for it. Wholeheartedly.