Prang out with me this Sunday

Hello and happy Sunday, a day I enjoy in the morning and feel less appreciative of for every passing hour.

You see, as Sunday evening approaches, I get a deep set feeling of dread in my gut. I worry that i’ve wasted my weekend, that I won’t get a good night’s sleep and consequently set myself up poorly for the working week. I worry that I won’t even be able to face the week and tomorrow morning and i’ll wake up and be unable to move from my bed due to some irrational fear of leaving the house, or that i’ll get to work and have some sort of breakdown because i’ve forgotten how to do my job in the 48 hours of free time i’ve had.

For those that aren’t so uh, ‘down with the lingo’, Urban Dictionary defines ‘prang’ as ‘A state of fear, usually drug induced, often humorous.’ To ‘prang out’ is basically to panic a bit about random things, possibly that don’t deserve such a panic. I’ll often get ‘prangovers’ after drinking the night before, for example.

Some bloggers and Youtubers invite their readers and viewers an opportunity to follow them around, to get ready with them, or hang out in a Q&A session. No, I want you to prang out with me, because it’s Sunday evening and if you’re not pranging out I want to know why and how.

On Sunday evenings, life feels irrationally relentless. The weekend flew by, and five days of hard work lie ahead. It means getting up early and always feeling a little tired. On Sundays I miss school days, when every six weeks or so we’d have a half term and a week off, now life is about getting your head down and keeping going until you can justify taking some time off. And really, this is it. This is life now. You work, work some more, retire at 80 (if you’re a millennial, anyway), and then die. Fuck, fuck.

The desire to run away from modern life is a classic symptom of the Sunday prang. In two days I’ve got a little too comfortable rolling out of bed at 10am and binge watching Jersey Shore, and now i’m paying the price. But there’s more – although I’ve enjoyed a fairly relaxing weekend in which I managed to go out and didn’t take it too far, haven’t had any horrific hangovers, and basically haven’t done anything except watch reality TV, have I also wasted the weekend? I didn’t really leave the house aside from Saturday night, I didn’t go for a walk, get any exercise, any fresh air… You know what else I didn’t do? Clean the house. The house is already fairly clean, but it could be cleaner, and I hate starting the week without a clean house. I didn’t do laundry either. What a waste.

The worst part of the Sunday prang is that there’s no real way to win. A cuddle, a cup of tea, a film, and an early bedtime are all a big help, but ultimately nothing can silence the internal panic and nothing can shake the odd jittery feeling that comes with it.

I am a fairly anxious person, it’s becoming plainer and plainer to me as I get older that there’s a very good chance I may well have an anxiety disorder, but perhaps i’ll talk more about that some other day. That said, I think, whether anxious or not, the Sunday prang is relatable to all who work Monday to Friday. Either everybody I know has anxiety (and if that’s the case we couldn’t possibly admit it for fear a baby boomer leaps out of a nearby bush screeching “snowflake!”) or, more likely, everyone does get this creepy, panicky sense of dread prior to the working week. I can’t imagine how awful it must be for people who hate their jobs and their colleagues; I work with some of my best friends and enjoy my job the vast majority of the time, there’s no reason for my Sunday prang, and yet here it is, back again, ready to ruin my evening.

If you’ve got any great tips for beating the Sunday dread, please tell me. My own remedies include making an elaborate, tasty dinner, watching lots of either Peep Show or Rick and Morty, watching a documentary – Louis Theroux on BBC the past few weeks has been a Godsend, eating chocolate or crisps and dip, following Rai around the flat like a lost puppy, and literally just taking a sleeping pill to knock myself out.

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