It's the freakin weekend baby I'm about to have me some fun

Why do Friday afternoon and Sunday morning have to feel like worlds apart? Why do I always go into the weekend feeling like a rock star and end it feeling like a pathetic loser? How long can this go on before I finally find that thing called "balance" that people speak of?

To add insult to injury, I'm 25 now. I've come to terms with the fact that that isn't very old in the larger scheme of things, but it's not exactly young either. What I mean is that the guilt I feel when I wake up hungover and miserable on a Sunday morning is only magnified by the fact that I've had a quarter century to get all this out of my system and it's still there. My favorite place in the world to be is still the dance floor, as cheesy as that sounds. I still live for the weekends.

The problem is, there is a very real dark side to partying...there comes a point in the night when everyone's eyes become soulless and glazed over and there is this unspoken feeling that everyone is trying to stay out as long as possible to avoid dealing with reality, and then it all starts to feel a little sad. I've started to wonder what I'm trying to escape from...I like my life.

It bothers me that this is even an issue, because it's A. easily avoidable with even an ounce of willpower and B. one of so many things that people in their 20s talk about as if they were the first person ever to experience when really it's old news. Also, I'm fully aware that if I were writing this on a Friday afternoon rather than a Sunday evening, the tone would most likely be a lot different. It's a vicious cycle, but not vicious enough to have any tangible consequences, which is why I keep repeating it.

I have this vision of my ideal weekend self: spending my days exercising and catching up with friends over tea followed by peaceful evenings of home improvement projects, then in bed by eleven. Maybe this will be me someday but for now the most I can hope for is to strike a balance. Go out one night per weekend instead of two. Come home before the club closes. Try my hardest not to dance on any tables.

I'll let you know how that goes.