My Weekend Plans

When the end of the working week approaches, I fear the moment when I'll hear the foreseeable question: "Doing anything exciting this weekend?". I honestly need to think and mentally prepare for this from Mondays to be able to have something to casually drop as an answer that won't brand me for the rest of my days as being boring.

The truth is that the best of my weekends involve: a book, a cup of tea (or glass of white wine), a sofa and not much more. 

This, however, will mean my response to the dreaded question is: "Reading, drinking, lying and little more". 'Bliss' in my eyes; but I'm guessing 'exceedingly dull and uninteresting' for the listener. Not even when I go over the top and treat myself to a play in the theatre, succeeds in making a conversation out of my weekend plans. 

Let's be honest: sadly, more than half of the time, the person asking you about your weekend plans isn't the least interested in what you answer. They are either a) being polite; or b) longing for the cue "what about you?" to talk about themselves (oh, don't do people love talking about themselves...) 

This is why I have decided that the next time I hear "Doing anything exciting this weekend?" I'm going to completely ignore the social pressure around this topic and offer a frank answer that mentions all of the things I have no intention of doing (e.g. waking up early, making the watch rule my day, run from meeting to meeting) and all of the places I won't even consider setting foot on (e.g. the office, claustrophobic clubs).

I love weekends!

Jet Lag is the New Hangover

Severely dehydrated. Struggling for words. Head and muscle (every. single. one. of. them.) ache. Lightheaded. Weak... Hangover? No; jet lag. 

I'm just back from a business trip to the other side of the world. A trip short enough to not fully adjust, but long enough to have left part behind. I think a part of me has been lost in every time zone from here to there and back. Now I'll just need to wait for the pieces to catch up with the cardboard version of myself sitting here.

I don't know what time it is of what day. I don't even care, for that matter. I just want to go under the duvet and hide there until tomorrow. That and my Mam. Maaam!! 

Yeh, you might want the exact same thing (plus greasy junk food) if you were out partying last night. But hangover is the price you have to pay for a night out having fun! There's nothing fun about spending 15 hours between airports (plural), flights (plural) and queues (plural: check-in, security, toilets, boarding, disembarking, etc.) 

Ok, let's be fair. It wasn't that bad. I have to stay positive and look on the bright side:

• the 3 airports I was in had Wi-Fi, so I didn't even have to work on my life-work balance

• my bag reached the same destination as I did. Both ways.

• I did not missed my connection. In fact, I spent more than 3 hours waiting for a 45 min flight home

• I was able to change my middle seat for an aisle seat

• with my headphones on, the (constant and extremely loud) screams of the baby were 'differed'

• my vegetarian food was always served before the rest (it was still tasteless crap, but I still got the "I wish I was you" look from the passengers around me)

• the flight attendant gave me a second blanket, so I didn't lose any toes to a/c frost

• no threatening devices/substances were found in my hand luggage after it was embarrassingly completely emptied in front of the whole London Heathrow airport

• despite absurdly feeling a mixture of anxiety and guilt, I was able to provide the correct answer when the cops (that's how they are called there) in the security check asked my name

Oh, well, at least I'm certain that I didn't text my ex, said anything which can be then held against me or hugged others proclaiming them my best friends ever.

*Note: Any grammatical errors and nonsense in this post can be fully attributed to severe jet lag conditions. Be nice and avoid judging me solely on the content of this post. Highly appreciated.