Sundays

Sundays used to be hard days. I hated them growing up and even into adulthood. The end of the weekend brought a morosity (I know that’s not a word but it works, doesn’t it?) that I couldn’t shake until well into the week. First, there was school to go back to then work as my professional career took off. Sundays had the specter of the impending responsibility I had to fulfill. You know what it was—or is—that makes Sundays so horrible? It was the fact that my time wouldn’t be mine. In order to get a high school diploma or take home a salary, I had to accommodate the schedule of someone else, whether that was school, an employer, or various events throughout the week. It felt like I was beholden to someone else.

There are things we must do in order to accomplish our goals; I understand that hardships and doing things that we don’t exactly want to do are just a part of life. But after a weekend of being relatively carefree with a schedule of my own making, Sundays coalesce the feeling of having to adult.

Now, Sundays have taken on the sheen of an enjoyable day. We usually have nothing to do and I try to make sure there aren’t any plans that we have to accommodate. Sundays are slower, more relaxed. We take out the trash, watch a movie, walk the dogs. We watch the snow fall like it is right now. Even though I have studying to do, I’m doing it with a mimosa next to me. I don’t have to be on for anyone, there’s nothing demanded of me. One day to do what I want to do, get a good night’s sleep, and prepare for the week ahead. The tenor of Sundays have shifted and this is largely due to my own interpretation of what Sundays are for. It also helps that I am now going back to school because I truly want to and I work at a relatively easy job compared to previous ones so the sense of foreboding isn’t as great.

But it’s still a Sunday.

Will there be a time when Sundays melt into Mondays and the delineation between work week and weekend disappears? One can hope.