It is Friday evening. Many people head home from work and enjoy a family meal, a happy hour with friends, perhaps a date with a spouse or partner. My friends and colleagues live for Friday evening…they plan things, do things, enjoy things.
I limp into Friday evening with a rather large dose of resentment. I don’t make plans. I don’t even pretend that plans are an option. I need to rest; to recover from the working week. I need to celebrate the fact there will be no work the next day by…well, doing absolutely nothing! Fridays are a joy only because I know I don’t have to fear the next morning too much.
Fridays used to be family night. We would order in pizza and watch a movie together. As the boys got older, the decision of what to watch became harder. Now, as both boys are middle-schoolers with attitude, they just wan to do their own thing. Sadly, instead of insisting on family time, I succumb to the shameful desire to do my own thing too…I need to rest, sleep, mend my painfully tired body. Then I often hear the words I fear all evening: “What are the plans for tomorrow?” Crap! I don’t want to think about tomorrow. Tomorrow is the weekend; a time for cleaning, organizing, getting the house put back together, laundry, and most importantly, a time to do something with the boys. I don’t hate the question because it reminds me of all I need to do…I hate it because it reminds me I will be letting the boys down again if I cannot muster the energy to give them something fun to do with me. They want to do things with me…and I just can’t!
I hate Fibro with such a passion.