The predictable unpredictability

Before every weekend, I usually make a sort of a mental list of things I will want to do in those two days of free time. Could pick up some regular stuff that everyone has to do (laundry and shit alike), or other things like going shopping before lunch, to have lunch at a "normal" time (and consequentely, dinner at a decent time too), go to a certain place in order to do something, and so on - the list could as well be endless. However, as soon as I'm out of the office on friday evening, everything starts slowly going bananas, up to the point when the mental list is thrown into the mental trash bin because, well, the whole idea of doing any of those tasks has become sheer nonsense. I mean, not even simple things like shaving - yes, shaving - gets done. And so, invariably, weekends in the city turn out to be a simultaneously slow and fast trip through pointless things that I know to actually have a point, even if I have no clue on what that could be. It's just as if everything would get so distracting as soon as the imposed routines wear by the end of friday. I don't really know what I'm after - escapism, freedom, whatever. I know it just happens that way, and it seems incredibly hard to change.