It doesn’t matter how much is due on Monday. It doesn’t matter how long you’ll have to work tomorrow or how many hours you know will need to go into all the things you have to do. If it’s Friday night…work does not get done.
I’m starting to get ashamed of myself for this. Surely, surely, after years and years of schooling, I’d learned to be disciplined enough not to waste time on Friday nights looking up random factoids on the internet. I could be reading a book or writing one, for crying out loud.
But Friday leaves me with no motivation in my bank. I go for a run at the end of the day, I go home, I pull on comfy clothes, and then I don’t want to do anything of significance for the rest of the evening, thank you kindly.
This is not the way it should be. One day I’ll have to give an account for every moment I spent awake and moving on this earth, and there are a lot of moments that could have been spent much, much more profitably. Weariness should not be an excuse, but it always is. I’d be so much prouder of myself in the morning if I don’t fritter away the night.
I will do better. I will do better. I will do better.