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!

On the Verge

I'm turning 30 in a couple of days.

My social media feed is literally inundated with wedding pictures and cute babies which all my classmates seem to be currently popping out (very politically incorrect use of words, but some are already on their second!). Me? Well, let's see: I'm boyfriend-less, child-less and renting (choosing my words carefully here, since thank to God I'm not 'homeless'). Falling out of the norm has convicted me to a set of society where confusion and questioning oneself reigns. "What am I doing wrong?" I find myself further and further away from those who were once so close, with less and less things in common. Whilst the girl sitting next to me in 2nd grade is engaged delivering a human being into this world, my major accomplishment to date is that I've finally managed to hold my Bakāsana for longer than a second (I know, well done me, right? I mean, it happened once and that still counts). 

I guess I should have stopped comparing myself to others waaaay back. Let's face it: at 5 I was probably eating snots but surely not composing symphonies (Mozart), at 12 I was writing boys names in the back of by school books and not plays (Lope de Vega), and the fake sickness that kept me out of lectures at 19, were never granted with a nomination to the Academy Awards (Leonardo di Caprio).

As the 3.0. version of myself becomes a reality, I've decided to care less and count more. Care less about what other people do (as long as they are happy and don't hurt anyone) and count more blessings. I don't seem to adhere to any 30-year-old stereotype anyway - which, by the way, creates a lot of amusing confusion in people. The other day I was buying cigarettes in Spain (where, literally everyone smokes) and the guy asked for my ID! Didn't know whether to be offended or flattered. It must be the Johnson's baby oil that I diligently use after my daily shower (hey, maybe I do have things to talk about to my toddlers' mums friends!). Other times, I'm taken as ancient for I find true happiness immersed in the pages of a book with a mug of tea in my hand. 

Let the laughing at oneself begin!