It is quite a curious phenomena that which we are discussing today. One of those strange happenings of the universe that science cannot explain with its current tools. A mystery of life, if you will.

In essence, the Weekend Effect is the perceived differential in productivity between weekdays and weekends. Weekdays are, as I like them, brimming with life. There are always things to do, new adventures in every corner, they joy of the unknown within the fabric of habits and routine. Weekends are meh.

It is amazing how, from Friday to Saturday, I can go between full productivity and enjoyable tasks to staying holed up at home doing nothing of interest and feeling sorry for myself at times. And it is not only attitude, but time seems to go at least twice as fast of weekends, because I do half of what I would normally do on weekdays with far more time at my disposal. Indeed, if feels as if weekends were shortened, with far less hours than weekdays.

Tasks that during the week are easy and fun to do (e.g. Anki) suddenly feel like a weight and a chore done out of necessity, yet it’s not like I have anything else to do. I invariably end up wandering around the Internet against my best efforts to avoid such mindless waste of time.

My theories and experiments have concluded that one of the causes of this most interesting phenomenon is the lack of structure to the day. Indeed, the day feels like jelly, ready to be shaped into whatever I like, but instead I turn into jelly, letting myself be molded by the day. There is, however, no discernible way to give structure to these weekends, so variable in content from week to week as they are.

The effect is consistent enough that one might time a watch by it: I end up doing nothing of importance, procrastinating on all the tasks I have to do, falling into old vices I would rather leave behind forever and generally having a bad time out of it. Every weekend. Every single one.

One of the main remedies I have found to counteract this, and only limited in it’s effect, is meeting with friends. i still do nothing productive, but hey, at least I have some fun with them. It is normally the only time I get to see them anyway, so might as well.

Over time I have come to accept this effect as part of my life, just rolling with it, knowing full well that fighting is futile. I do not like how accustomed I have become to it, but it sheer force over years is compounding against me to the point where fighting does me more harm than good. Thus, I let it be, promising myself that at least on weekdays I am good.

Such life inconsistencies must not be forgiven, however, and I think it might be the time to get a hold of myself and start the fight with renewed vigor, lest this most unpleasant effect might also destroy the rest of the days. That is what I tell myself every time, to some degree of success sometimes, but ultimately always failing in the quest.

Let it not be said, however, that I did not fight.