How to Waste a Weekend
Friday night and you’re already bored. The weekend hasn’t even started and you can feel it dragging—that flatness, that emptiness. So you start thinking about stupid things. Things that sound interesting in theory but would be miserable in practice.
Like eating only pizza for two days. Every meal, every 4 AM drunken snack run, nothing but pizza. Different toppings, obviously, but pizza and only pizza. You’d hate yourself by Sunday. Your stomach would hate you. But at 8 PM on a Friday it feels like the greatest mission possible.
Or buying a dog and dressing it in your exact clothes every day. Getting matching outfits. Walking around the neighborhood as a pair, you and your dog in identical shirts, until everyone knows you as that guy. The insane guy with the dog clone. It’s dumb but there’s something weirdly appealing about committing so hard to something pointless.
You think about picking up the cheapest red wine from the corner store—the bottle that costs €3 and tastes like regret—drinking it and then wandering into the dark of the city without throwing up. Not as some accomplishment, just as something that happened. Or standing in front of the mirror naked at midnight, telling yourself with complete seriousness that you’re going to be fine, that it’ll work out. Maybe it helps. Probably not. But you say it anyway.
There’s stuff everyone has done. I watched all of Friends in one go and it was like watching grief, all those people having their little problems in that apartment. You think about loading up an old SNES to speedrun Mario in under a minute, something some insane person actually did. You wonder if your hands still know the buttons.
You could move to Sweden. You could throw a reunion with all your exes and hand out awards—best sex, biggest dick, aged the worst. Crude shit that would actually be memorable if you ever did it. But you won’t. You’ll do none of it. You’ll waste the weekend on nothing, watch some TV, eat regular food, exist quietly. The point isn’t doing the stupid things. The point is thinking about them, some small defiance against the flatness of Friday night.