All peopled out

I love people. I really do. Friendly ones and “stay off my lawn” ones, chatty ones and quiet ones, me-first ones and helper ones — the world is full of many different types and I like them all.

However, my internal gas gauge is running on fumes. The gauge is placed firm on the E letter, as in Empty. If my engine was a car, I would probably be stuck by now along the side of some dark, desolate road.

I traveled early this week to Atlanta and flew back home late last night. (Oh, what a cool and friendly city, the small bit that I got to see.) My past four days have been the same: up at the crack of dawn, Uber to the office, work late and without a lot of breaks, and then Uber back to my hotel. I’ve been on the merry go-round 24/7 meeting with and partnering with a lengthy list of coworkers and a leaders.

People, people, people, everywhere there are people

Yes, I’m all peopled out. I’m like the little kid in Director M. Night Shyamalan’s movie, The Sixth Sense, who looks around and whispers to his psychologist that he sees dead people. Yes, yes, I see too many people.

My wife is going away this weekend on an annual girls weekend with her cousins. They head to the mountains and celebrate and hang together. Yes, I’m sure you’re wondering just like me: where’s the guys weekend? Anyway until us guys get smarter and get our act together and with work out of the way, I’m on my own and looking to fill a deep, longing for solitude. When I think about the coming weekend, my gut says to hit a local bar, find a corner spot and watch the NFL playoffs nonstop until Monday evening.

I get the image of me standing up to cheer a crazy touchdown and yelling to the bartender and crowded bar that the next round is on me (even though I suspect the prospects for my team, the Philadelphia Eagles look pretty dim.)

In reality, I will spend my weekend doing the exact opposite.

My covers will be up and over my head

After this long week and spending too much time dealing with people, I know exactly how I’ll spend it: I’ll sleep in, legs scrunched up to my chest. I’ll scroll and skim through my phone and social media. I’ll watch some football, but it will be by myself, and I’ll find some free time to finish reading a great book or two.

It will be the most unproductive weekend — one for the record books — and will be just what the doctor ordered. Yea, I can’t wait! A long weekend with my three favorite people in the world: Me, myself, and I.

Here’s to the best weekend ever!