Sunday is the day of the week. The Daddy, the reason the rest of the week exists.
Yeah Friday and Saturday are all jolly and nice, cutting the leash on the working week and letting fly with wild abandon. Liver kicking fun for you and your friends, the time to push your kidneys and your cashcard to the extremes.
Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday are there for a reason. I’m sure it’s a jolly good reason, like October and November in the world of months. Or Tim Lovejoy in the world of whatever he does. Essentially they are prep work for the important business of the weekend and of course… Monday.
Monday has an aura of foreboding, of malaise, of impending doom. To some it hangs like a vaginal wart on the warm slippery service of Sunday’s labia. To these people Monday has nothing to offer, and as such is a vacuum so dense it sucks the life out of the best day of the week, Sunday.
Embrace Monday as a positive, as the springboard of the week, even if you hate your job. Stick on a Facebook grin (you know the one, the rictus smile of the permanently delusional) and just storm through. Monday is all about possibility, breaking the back of it, silencing your nightmares, the reality that the cold light of day banishes nearly all of your night sweats. Be brave and Monday is actually pretty cool.
So, Sunday. My mate. Sunday let’s me play with the kids. Fool about with Mrs Whatsit. Call up some family and tell them I’m thinking of them (which I’m not). Sunday gives me a hug and let’s me read what Murdoch wants me to read and watch his telly. Sunday allows me to sit on a ridiculous website and chat with strangers about subjects from ‘circle-jerking’ to ‘cry-wanking’… granted, there is a theme.
I quite like Sunday, because I learnt to embrace Monday. The slag.