Hitting snooze repeatedly. Barely functioning shuffle to the coffee machine. Yep, just another glorious Friday getting underway. My colleagues can usually tell by my facial expression when to leave me alone (I don’t take it personally, I secretly prefer it. Maybe a sign should hang around my neck that reads “Do Not Engage Until Caffeinated“).
The usual Friday buzz filled the air – people excitedly dissecting their weekend plans.
You know the drill – elaborate nights out promising endless “fun” that somehow turn into Monday morning hangovers powered by questionable decisions and the ever-present “never again” vow.
It’s a ritual as predictable as overpriced airport coffee, and frankly, a little exhausting.
As I dug through my bag for my laptop, a familiar business card appeared – the painter I met a few days ago. A polite “yes” back then, knowing it would likely join the collection of forgotten cards moldering in my overflowing drawer (or worse, the bottom of my bag).
Except, this time, something felt different. Maybe it was the contrast between the planned chaos of their weekend plans and the quiet promise of getting something done, reflected in that card.
Maybe it was just plain burnout. Whatever it was, that card suddenly felt like a symbol of something more – a weekend of relaxation, not just partying.
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Clinical Psychologist Cape Town
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