notes on sunday
I wrote the following on December 28, 2022 you can only imagine what spurred these musings as first semester finals approach!
Sundays are for mourning. Yearning, pondering, longing. All regrets of the week join together and concentrate their restless reminding into Sunday. The smell of laundry. Turmoil building up into unshed tears inside. Sundays are for the poets and philosophers and great thinkers of the world, and the teenage girl filled with grief, all-consuming. If Monday is unabashed dullness and Friday a miracle, Sunday is a funeral, the silence before a crime is discovered, an impending storm rolling into view. What unfortunate luck bestowed upon those who live to see Sunday. What woe! What glee! Like a wasp ready to escape the nest to feed, like a sword before the final stroke.