Today is Sunday.
Or if you’re reading this on another day,today is not Sunday,but soon it will be so read on.
I really,really hate Sundays.
If I could I’d sleep through the entire day and come up smiling on Monday morning,or as much as anyone can smile on a Monday morning.
My Sundays follow a distinct pattern—-drag myself out of bed by midday,go to Tesco to do the weekly shop,have a nervous breakdown whilst trying to navigate around the stupid people who cant handle a trolley,come home,put shopping away,and thats it.
I dont have much of an exciting life,and thats fine,thats how I like it…but on Sundays this is brought home to me in an almost unbearable way.
I’m sure there’s a special term for not liking Sundays,like Seasonal Affected Disorder,but more specific…how about “Thinking Sundays Are Shit Disorder?”
That should cover it.
It probably stems from my schooldays,as all of my deep-rooted psychoses do.Sundays meant I was going back to school the next day,and when I was a lad there were NO shops open at all.I can barely remember any Sundays from my youth because I’ve blanked them out.I’m afraid that if I recall even a small snippet it will make me have a psychotic episode.
I have NO idea what I used to do on Sundays when I was young,except get ready for school the next day.
Sundays are non-days.
All my Sundays are exactly the bloody same.The only variation is when my son is staying with me for the weekend,but even then it’s bitter sweet because that’s the day he goes home.
It’s odd…vicars absolutely rave about Sunday.My son’s step-father is a vicar…he loves a good Sunday.He gets together for a good old sing-song with loads of other people who like Sundays.
It’s probably just me.It’s “probably just me” about a lot of things I don’t like or don’t understand.
I’m complicated.
From now on I’m going to try to do something new,exciting and different every Sunday.
I’ll let you know how I get on.
TROPICAL MOMENTS 