When I was still a student whose waking free time ranged from somewhere between ten to thirteen hours every day, I had no concept of what a proper weekend was. To me it was just two days – and maybe a Friday evening – when the malls were extra crowded, when it was best to stay at home because everyone else seemed to want to go out.
Now that I’m working your usual nine-to-five grind though, I find myself counting down to the weekend the moment I wake up on Thursday morning. It’s okay, A – I constantly tell myself. Just 36 hours to the weekend. Just a few hours more. And as soon as the weekend hits, I instantly start thinking – 48 hours of my weekend left! Must get out of the house! Must do fun things! Must take revenge for the hellish week that came before – or maybe restock on the energy and good vibes that I’m sure to lose in the coming week?
It’s not my job that disheartens me, really. I actually like it very much – I like structure, so I like nine-to-five things. What disheartens me is that I suck so much at my job. It’s expected, I guess. I’ve never worked before in my life, so in total I’ve only had about 1 month and 12 days of work experience so far. Of course I’m supposed to suck at it.
I dislike the feeling of being incompetent though. I remember when I was still a young, dewy-eyed freshman in 2007 – I lie, but whatever – my friend R was crying to us near the basketball courts of the co-ed dormitories. She had just failed her first quiz in college – it was in Philippine history, I think – and she was in tears because she wasn’t used to failing. She had been the class valedictorian of my high school batch. I don’t remember much else from that day, but I remember really wanting to laugh at her anxiety then.
I wonder if anyone feels like laughing at my anxiety now.