Sundays are fantastic for me, as long as there’s nothing planned on that day. It’s not that I don’t have to do work, it’s actually the total opposite.
Sundays are when I un-clutter the clutters of my life. Literally, I tidy up my desk - both physical and virtual - that almost always resembles a mountain range by the weekend. Anything could be on my table, be it half-week-old boxes of sweets that don’t belong to me or tissue paper filled with words and requests, or even the occasional gem that I’d been looking for all month but only decided to surface in that last week.
Sundays are when I can walk Rocky without having to worry about time, when he can go around scaring little kids who try to annoy him. Sometimes there is also the occasional adult who whistles or makes some random noise to get his attention, only to end up running away as Rocky runs after him.
Rocky will keep running even after he’s passed the adolescent adult though, so I prefer ignoring them.
Most Sundays allow me the luxury of cooking dinner, after I’ve spent the afternoon trying to finish up my work. For some odd reason it’s the only day that I actually give myself the discipline to complete unfinished work, or at least develop the occasional rudimentary garble that I also classify under this category.
Some Sundays I actually watch TV.
If not, I’m on the computer and I can hear my Mom singing along to songs that she plays on her laptop that I haven’t heard of - because she listens to 98.0fm and 98.7fm and I do not. I listen to music that she classifies as ‘noise’, regardless of whether they are folk or metal.
I like how Sundays feel. Good thing they come by more often than the monthly.