Sunday morning

Don’t you love Sunday mornings? I like waking up at 9:00 and having a lazy expanse of time stretch out before me. I like knowing that the newspaper in all its bulk is sitting by the front door, ready to be devoured. I like watching CBS Sunday Morning for its segments about art or politics and that interview with a random celebrity who I previously cared about not one whit. I like that Sunday usually means grocery shopping, maybe even at the farm, and that cooking a huge evening meal afterwards means there will be leftovers. 

But then Saturday morning is pretty sweet too. Better even. I want to bound out of bed at dawn when it’s sunny and soak up every free minute. I like to hit the yard sales and roam through people’s yards and stuff (the season cannot start soon enough). I like knowing that there are still two full days of the weekend to enjoy. Time is filled with such possibility. And I like the prospect of a Saturday night dinner, movie, or get-together. Things happen on Saturday night.

Still, Friday afternoon is pretty great. I like 3:00 in the afternoon, when work is winding down and talk turns to weekend plans and the promise of the weekend is so close. A rush to finish last minute tasks slows into organizing your desk (in theory, anyway) and preparing to walk away to your other life.

What’s strange though is that when I was younger, Monday used to be my favorite day. Lucky too. Inconceivable, isn’t it? I still like the prospect of a fresh week (it helps to like your job) and feeling prepared to tackle the world. I’ve always liked the idea that things begin anew and there’s optimism about the week ahead. But going to any job Monday morning is tough.

Of course, in reality, the Sunday paper is daunting and it feels more like a slog than a companionable accompaniment to a pancake breakfast. Dinner is more often some hastily prepared meal than the result of a visit to the farm, so there will be no leftovers. And if the sun isn’t streaming in Saturday morning, it’s easy to sleep late and then have to sprint from place to place trying to get things done. And Friday afternoons of late have meant working until the last minute after everyone has fled and then racing to beat the T traffic.

So, upon reflection, I may have to go back to that foolish notion from my youth: Mondays? Not so bad.

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