I think I was born without a punctuality gene. I don’t think I could get anywhere on time if my life depended on it. I’m never on time for work, but I figure, since I don’t get my lunch hour like I’m supposed to, it evens out in the end.
I’m going to visit some friends in Knoxville this weekend. I haven’t been to see them in over a year. I used to go maybe once a month or every other month, but last year I got sick. Then I got sicker. Then I had my gallbladder out. I’m feeling better, but still not 100% even though my surgery was last December. It’s been about a year since I got sick, and I don’t know why, but I just don’t feel like leaving the house much, beyond going to work or to the store.
Every nerve in my body is having a kicking and screaming fit because I have to go visit friends this weekend. It’s not that I don’t want to see them — I do! But I just don’t want to travel. Perhaps it’s because I tend to overstress myself at work that the weekends are my respite. And if I go out of town, I start feeling like my weekend has been stolen from me. The weekend is my time to rest, and I don’t get any when I go stay with them. I certainly don’t sleep well in any bed but my own. So I’ll come home Sunday afternoon feeling more tired than when I got home Friday evening.
It sucks that I feel this way. I wish I could afford to talk to a mental health professional. 😦