A Normal Sunday

Today i had a brief interchange with someone close to me. The person said they were glad it was Friday and i laughed and said me to! The person said it was always Friday for me, being unemployed, and we laughed and that was that. But i started thinking. Not everyday is Friday for me.

My days feel more like Sundays.


It is my, albeit limited, experience that the Sunday of a hardworkin' man have an ominous sense of foreboding about them. It may be Sunday, a day of rest, but tomorrow is Monday. For my part the realization of Monday kicks into gear and i begin to organize the rest of my Sunday around what has to be done. A preparatory ritual for the new week where i rush about trying to get things done, shoe horn a little play time in the mix, then the day is over, the kids are in bed and its late and things didn't get done and tomorrow is Monday. The beginning of the week and the weekend is over.

I dread the end of Sundays, it always means the beginning of Monday is coming soon. But right now the beginning of Monday feels like the start of Sunday, so much pressure to do it all--family time, house-work, play-time--and it just goes on and on and on.

There is always a faint hope for work, just beyond the horizon, but nothing is written in stone. It is this hope that i rely on to drive me forward though each passing Sunday sees the hope diminish slightly. Each coming Monday fades into a day that in which i set standards and goals and watch as the routine of my life slips away--just like a normal Sunday.