The Dreaded Sunday Scaries
If you think this is only a problem for those with jobs, think again.
It may sound strange, but even though I’ve been out of work for well over a year, I still get the Sunday Scaries.
If you’re unfamiliar with the term, “Sunday Scaries” refers to the creeping anxiety that usually hits a working person late Saturday or Sunday morning and gets progressively worse through Monday morning. (The ringing of the alarm clock on Monday morning is the devil’s clarion call.)
While employed, my Sunday anxiety sometimes stemmed from ruminating on specific work issues, but more often it came in the form of a vague sense of dread that I would no longer be in control of what I do and when I do it once Monday rolled around. This anxiety would ebb and flow throughout the week, but I would inevitably feel most at ease late Friday afternoon or evening—only to repeat the cycle each and every week. To use a grim analogy: It felt like I was a prisoner who was allowed into the yard for recreation somewhere around 4 p.m. Friday and forcibly returned to his cell first thing Monday morning. Hitting the snooze bottom was the equivalent of running away, playing hide-and-seek, and/or throwing a temper tantrum in the yard to delay the guards from putting the restraints back on. (I’m sure I did those things as a kid to avoid going back to school on Monday—but I digress.)
While it’s tempting to think long-term unemployment grants a person an exemption from this drama, I regret to inform you that this is not the case. My Sunday-related anxiety remains even when I don’t have any specific Monday-morning obligations—for reasons I’ll lay out.
The dominant culture tells men (in particular) that they’re useless if they’re not working, and if they’re not working, they better at least be busting their ass off trying to work
The dominant culture tells men (in particular) that they must always be busy doing something (usually something outside the home). Who they are is not enough: They must always be doing for the sake of doing
While I don’t buy into the dominant culture, I (in particular) hate the idea that other people may consider me lazy, entitled, or otherwise unwilling to do, work, perform, achieve, etc.
Upon reflection, the problem might not be the dominant culture as much as my massive ego: It’s not enough for me to have the option to sleep in and enjoy my “free” time—other people have to like and accept it. They have to know I still got it—in more ways than one. (I am only 38 for fuck’s sake. No man wants to feel washed up or flaccid before 40.)
It’s a brutal paradox because I do want sympathy at times, especially from those with stable careers, but all the sympathy in the world can’t compensate for not getting all the other things I want and, more importantly, feeling the way I want to feel about myself and where I am in life. The last high-paying job I had was hardly more useful than sympathy in this regard—which is why I walked away from it. Perhaps the real anxiety comes from knowing that next week will bring me no closer to my destination than the previous week, and the torturous stretch from Sunday to Monday is the only time I’m honest with myself.
I posit that working life is just a merry-go-round of pain, disappointment, and semi-consensual bondage. (Think about those vintage merry-go-rounds where you’re strapped to the horse.) Even working professionals making six figures are not as far from the penal colony as they would like to believe—and I know plenty who suffer worse anxiety than I do. Until we either return to subsistence farming or force machines to serve us—completely—only a tiny elite will enjoy real freedom.
While I wait for revolution (or AI-driven evolution), I’ll continue to hate the thought of Monday as much as any employed person. And I’ll feel just as guilty for hitting the snooze bottom and failing to accomplish anything until Tuesday—at the earliest.