Ramblings: Every day is like Sunday
I used to hate Sundays. Friday nights were amazing because I
had (sometimes) two full work-free days and three nights ahead of me, where I
could let go and do all of the hundreds of things I never had time to do during
the week days. But as soon as I would wake up on Sunday mornings I would start
worrying about Monday morning. As each hour passed by I would think about how I
had one less hour of freedom to enjoy. In the winter I would try to think of
activities to do to take my mind off the impending doom that was going to bed,
in the summer I would escape to the beach and secretly hope that the world
would end before Sunday night approached. But it always inevitably happened…
The night would close in and I would go to bed early, knowing full well that I
would be plagued with stressful nightmares about missed deadlines and insanely
long conference calls that never lead to anything concrete. Project plans would
fly through the air and damage control emails would scroll through my mind,
amidst dreams of machete-wielding men in suits chasing me through forests and
deserts. Escape would only come when I awoke, and pulled myself out of bed to
face the Monday morning commute and emails that would have come in during the
weekend and the early morning hours.
Nowadays I love Sundays. I work most Sundays during the day
at the bookstore and sometimes Sunday nights at the bar. Sunday evenings are
for relaxing with friends, hanging out on the Lower East Side, staying out late
and not worrying about having to get up early on Monday morning. Summer Sundays
are for sitting outside and smoking cigarettes while chatting with friends,
walking over the bridge during a storm, drinking ice cold drinks inside bars
and eating ice cream at 4 in the morning. Winter Sundays are for going to late
movie showings and eating too much popcorn and walking back home in the cold
wind for a long, uninterrupted sleep, no nightmares or stress-related dreams on
the horizon. The only work-related dreams I have nowadays are the occasional
my-bed-is-in-the-bar and I need to jump out half naked to serve people pints of
beer. These people have been members of Portishead and the cast of Buffy, as
well as the usual regulars I serve on a daily basis. Sunday night nightmares
have turned into Sunday night peaceful dreams.
I used to listen to Morrissey’s Everyday is Like Sunday on
repeat on Monday mornings, and it always struck a chord: Sundays always felt so
grey and dismal because Monday was coming up right behind her, always there in
the shadows. Now I just listen to it and it makes me feel happy, walking
barefoot in the sand on the beach, listening to the waves and feeling free.
Nowadays every day is like Sunday, work or not, every day is different and the
same all at once. Some things are never constant, but one thing is, I usually
wake up with a smile.
