A little over a year ago I went on a handful of dates with a boy. After a few dates, it was clear he wasn't my match, but these dates haven't gone unnoticed in my life. The grand finale culminated in one really rough evening that made me wonder just how it ever got this far. It has been called, by some of my friends, my worst date ever.

That feels a little dramatic to me, though.

Regardless, in the beginning there were fun dates, when I was excited about him, and his jokes were still funny and did he mean to touch my hand? And on one of those dates, we were at dinner and he asked me how my day was. I told him it was good! And he said, but are you always one of those people who says their days are good?

Probably.

That is, until this week, when my friend Hannah asked me how I'd been and I couldn't even change the words into good before they popped out: tired.

And then I felt embarrased for complaining and wanted to backtrack and tell her I was actually good, but unfortunately my brain was already six miles ahead thinking about why it popped out. This led to a whole slew of thoughts, which landed me at a frustratingly familiar place.

Yet again, I can't seem to slow down. I can't seem to figure out where to cut back. I can't commit to my February goal of spending time at home. And the real problem is, is that this leads to me feeling like I am not doing anything well. Like everything I'm doing, I'm performing just below grade. I'm sliding by and taking shortcuts and missing details.

Last summer and fall, I went through this excellent stretch where I spent a lot of time at home and felt organized and rested. But for some reason, 2013 has brought on an attitude of racing and running that has led to me to choas. Chaos like never seeing my roommate. Wednesday night, we had supper club, and I was just so grateful that we had something on the calendar together, so we could catch up.

When I visited Katie and Sara in Chicago, we stayed at Katie's house. That girl is busy, but she also knows how to say no and really values time to herself. And I noticed when I was there, that she had thought of every detail before my visit. She'd gotten food I liked, made plans just for me - had thought of tiny things that made me feel so important. And it meant so much to me - then also made me panic at the thought of all of my guests that have visited, with fear that I hadn't done the same for them. And it made me realize that in order to do things really, really well (like everything Katie does), you cannot do everything. You have to choose your priorities.

And the fact is, no one can make do it. I just have to make the choice, like choosing to budget or exercise. No one is going to handcuff me to my kitchen table one night a week.

But could you, someone?

On Wednesday, Courtney told me I should try to have one night each week at home. Like totally at home. Not an hour at home before dinner or after yoga and between volunteering. At. Home.

This weekend I'm heading to the beach with my family, which feels like the perfect opportunity to recharge and reconnect. Then, upon my return, Wednesdays officially become Whitney Wednesdays. Because (1) I love alliteration, obviously, who doesn't? and (2) they feel like the perfect midweek opportunity to have some quality alone time.

Courtney says she's holding me to it, which feels like the next best thing to handcuffs.

Let's do this!

PS: I'm not so narcissistic to think that you should now call Wednesdays the day of Whitney, too. But maybe you could have Solo Sundays or Togetherless Tuesdays or Me Myself and I Mondays -- really whatever resonates for you.