What is it like to be alone on a Sunday?

Do you get the blues like me?

Weekends are hard when you’re alone. You might be busy with work or volunteer activities all week, but at some point, maybe Sunday afternoon, when the chores are done and it’s time to relax, you don’t know what to do with yourself. Other people might be busy with family or friends, but that’s not happening for you.

Enjoy your “me” time, folks recommend. Some of us have plenty of “me” time; we need some “we” time.

When I was a kid, our weekends usually ended with a family visit with grandparents, cousins, or aunts and uncles. Food, talk, and games followed until we were worn out and it was time for bed. Not anymore. Those who haven’t died live far away, so I’m on my own.

Aug. 10-11 was a typical weekend.

I worked on writing projects Saturday until it was time to play and sing at the afternoon Mass at St. Anthony’s. Afterward, I cooked ribs and rice for dinner, took my evening walk, talked to Bobo the Chocolate Lab on Cedar Street, and watched TV until I fell asleep on the sofa.

Sunday morning, I got up early, had breakfast, started to work, still felt sleepy and slept for two more hours on the sofa. Then I got dressed, tuned my guitar and went to Cafe Chill for lunch and the weekly open mic. I sang two sets, receiving thunderous applause. I drank too much tea and ate too much chocolate, but I felt part of a group, and it was good.

Then it was over and I was walking out alone with my guitar strapped to my back, purse slung over my shoulder.

Sometimes after the music, I go walking on the beach, but I didn’t feel like it, so I went home and played music until my fingers hurt too much to touch the strings. I wished there was someone around to jam with or at least to hear me.

I still had hours to fill, and I spent them all watching TV. As I watched this series on Netflix, “Love Life,” about this guy Marcus’ messed-up love life, I started to cry. Not because of Marcus. He’s an idiot. I cried as I watched his sometimes girlfriend Mia saying goodbye to her mother. They hugged, and she promised to call as soon as she arrived.

I remembered doing that with my parents and my husband, but now there was no one to hug me goodbye and no one waiting anxiously to know that I got home all right. I missed my late husband. I missed everybody. Why was I alone when everyone else seemed to have somebody? I let myself slip into the swamp, that place where I feel sorry for myself and nothing seems worth doing.

Every time I come home, I look at the landline to see if anyone has called. No one ever has, even on a weekend when I know people have time. I check my cell phone. Nope, nothing. I check email. It’s all newsletters, ads and rejections.

Sundays are supposed to be a day of rest, and I try to take that seriously, try to stay away from my office and my computer. I do household chores, and then I’m free to do whatever I want. But what is that? I don’t know anymore. There are a million choices, but they all feel like work.

This is not a new thing. Many years ago, when I was divorced and living alone in Pacifica, California, I struggled with Sundays. All week, I ran myself ragged writing for the Pacifica Tribune and singing, alone and with several different vocal groups. Sometimes I took classes at the community college. I did yoga and ran on the beach. I didn’t have time to feel lonely.

But on Sundays, none of that was happening. Church was over mid-morning–if I went. It didn’t take long to clean a one-bedroom apartment. Then what? I made bad choices. Dated men who were crazy, abusive, or not much fun. Got drunk alone or baked a cake and ate the whole thing. Called Dial-a-Prayer just to hear another voice. This was pre-Internet, and I couldn’t afford a TV. What is a person supposed to do when there’s no one else, you have no money, and you’re trying not to do anything that feels like work?

Yes, I was depressed, and yes, I got myself some therapy, which helped a lot.

Now, many years later, I’m alone most of the time. No longer in the newspaper biz, I work alone, seeing other people only for meetings, doctor’s appointments, choir practice, and trips to the grocery store. But Monday through Saturday, I have my schedule. I have more than enough work to keep me busy.

Then Sunday comes.

When you have a job during the week, you have a schedule and tasks you need to complete. You have co-workers. You have structure. But then Sunday comes. It feels like this gap in the earth; you have nowhere to put your feet.

While other people are gathering for parties, barbecues, camping trips, or whatever, you feel invisible, sitting on your couch watching Marcus the idiot destroy another relationship and waiting for one more episode of “The Gilded Age” to fill one glorious hour.

Monday is my favorite day of the week because I know what to do and I look forward to doing it.

My writing and music keep me going. What do people do who live alone and don’t have work or some kind of passion to fill their days? Yes, we’re lucky to have so much freedom, but sometimes freedom is overrated.

I don’t need a shrink to figure out that I was struggling last weekend because my home remodeling project is finished for now, and my doctor visit and subsequent tests were disappointing. According to the results on “MyChart,” I am prediabetic with kidney problems. I’m still not sure I trust the doctor who said, in essence, “Don’t worry about it; just drink more water. And would you like to try physical therapy again?”

Sure, why not? Can we do it on Sunday afternoons?

I know it’s all about attitude. Watch this video at the “Someday Someday” Substack to see someone who really treasures her weekend time alone.

For me, having a plan and sticking to it is the antidote. And that is my prescription for you, too.

Schedule something you can’t chicken out of. Get together with friends. Volunteer. Have a spa day. Buy tickets to a live show, invite a friend for a meal, try a new hiking trail, immerse yourself in a good book, cook meals you can nosh on for the rest of the week, or work on a home improvement project. Get off the couch.

Chris McLeod, MSW, recommends in this piece at https://www.succeedsocially.com/ dislikeweekends:

“Try to do genuinely fun, interesting, new things on the weekends, rather than aimlessly kill time (e.g., visit a museum in a nearby town vs. randomly reading stuff online). If you're going to be alone anyway, you may as well make the most of it, create some good memories, and maybe discover a new interest or get an experience to talk about.

“I know when you're lonely and do something on your own it can be shot through with this depressing sense of, "I have to do this by myself. It would be so much better with company. Look, there's a group of friends right over there. This all reminds me how alone I am." However, I think the positives outweigh that downside.”

He’s right. I have made a start by spending my weekends doing more music and less writing, by playing at Saturday Mass and the Cafe Chill open mic. I’m happy to do my laundry and water my plants on Sunday mornings, but clearly I need to organize the remaining empty time to keep myself from hugging the couch and feeling sorry for myself.

Here’s a thought. Find someone else who is alone and schedule something together, even if it’s just watching something stupid on Netflix.

How about you? Are weekends worse than weekdays? How do you cope with unscheduled time alone?

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I’m getting the long-delayed injection for my hip on Friday. I’m hoping it helps and that if I’m going to have a reaction, it waits until I drive the 60 miles home from the clinic in Corvallis.

My medical alert watch should arrive by Friday, along with accessories and a lockbox for my house key. I will let you know how that goes. It occurred to me this morning that the watch is a little like the ankle bracelet prisoners wear to monitor their whereabouts. Hmm.

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How did I end up alone? My first marriage ended in divorce. My second husband died of Alzheimer’s after we had moved to the Oregon coast, far from family. I never had any kids, only dogs. Now I live by myself in a big house in the woods. You can read our story in my memoir, No Way Out of This: Loving a Partner with Alzheimer’s, available at your favorite bookseller. Visit https://www.suelick.com for information on all of my books.