If you’ve ever spent a night out drinking, chances are you’ve encountered the Sunday Scaries and have spent hours wishing them away. I’ve recently found out that not everyone is familiar with this exact term, but do know the feeling once it’s been explained. So instead of trying to define it in my own words, I’ve included two definitions from Urban Dictionary’s perspective, because I don’t think I could have explained it any better myself.
In a nutshell, the Sunday Scaries are virtually the worst feeling in the world; anxiety times a thousand, feeling deathly ill and continuously going over your actions from the weekend in your head. Deleting conversations that shouldn’t have existed, avoiding your parents because you know they think you’re a degenerate, and chugging endless bottles of water in the hopes you can shake this awful feeling has become so routine. And although I know this is my fate after a night of binge drinking and my average resting heart rate probably won’t be lower than 115, I still do it anyway, and I don’t think I’ll ever learn.
While not only feeling regretful or sick, the hatred for your job sets in too. Questioning why you do what you do, wondering if there’s something better out there, and asking yourself if maybe you should have a different plan. Then another hefty question asks, “Do I really need this job?”, and the answer is probably yes, but you try to justify reasons behind not needing it to the point where you convince yourself you might actually not need it, but still wake up on Monday and go regardless.
But wait, it gets worse. Not only do you question your entire being all day long on Sunday, sometimes it carries over to Monday, which in my opinion, is worse than having the scaries on a Sunday. At least then you can lay around, allow in yourself to wallow in self pity from the comfort of your bed and forget that the rest of the world and your responsibilities exist. But on Monday? Nope. You have to leave the house, put on a fake smile and pretend that you’re not still thinking about some of the questionable decisions you made Saturday night, your diminishing bank account and who you drunk texted. Paranoid about almost everyone and everything that surrounds you, your heart just can’t relax. Then, aside from the lingering anxiety of your weekend actions, you start to worry about what’s going on right in front of you, “Did I remember to send that email? Do I have a meeting today? Is there something else I’m supposed to be doing?”. The questions in our heads don’t stop, and continue to torture us until we’re finally clocking out.
So to calm yourself down, while indirectly praying to God, you tell (promise) yourself that you’re not going to go out this weekend to take it easy, save money and be productive. And for the better part of the week, your plan is still intact. However, for me personally, this usually diminishes sometime after lunch on Friday and I begin to rationalize in my head why I deserve to go out; I just worked all week, I had minimal human contact other than my parents since Sunday, and I just got paid. Why wouldn’t I go out?
Then the cycle begins again either Friday night or all day Saturday, and I return to Sunday with the worst possible drinkers remorse and dread the thought of it being Monday. Then, before I know it, I’m sitting in my desk chair once again telling myself I’m going to take it easy next weekend.