Sunday, April 24, 2005
Bittersweet Sundays
Sunday. It's always been a day to look forward to, especially in the middle of a horrible school or work week. It's a time to relax, lounge about, and have butt sex while church bells ring in the distance. Sunday is a day that holds boundless promise. Newspapers are bigger. The air is crisper. The chalupas at Taco Bell taste better. The inevitable diarrhea you get afterward is not as explosive. One could say that Sunday is the best day of the week. It's rumoured that Jesus Christ rose from the dead on a Sunday just to take advantage of a JCPenney two for one sale.
But for all the good things that Sunday brings, as Sunday evening rolls around, one is filled with a creeping dread. For the setting sun reminds us that we are being pushed inevitably towards Monday. Homework needs to be done. Toys need to be put away. Sleep needs to be gotten to earlier. The promise of the new day leads to an evening of anxiety -- that oh-crap-I-forgot-to-build-my-science-project feeling. What a let down. One could say without exaggeration that Sunday night is the worst night of the week.
But for all the good things that Sunday brings, as Sunday evening rolls around, one is filled with a creeping dread. For the setting sun reminds us that we are being pushed inevitably towards Monday. Homework needs to be done. Toys need to be put away. Sleep needs to be gotten to earlier. The promise of the new day leads to an evening of anxiety -- that oh-crap-I-forgot-to-build-my-science-project feeling. What a let down. One could say without exaggeration that Sunday night is the worst night of the week.
