sunday lows
On Sundays I totally want to not live any more. Every Sunday, there is at least one moment when I say to myself "It would have been convenient to have not woken up today."
Sundays are boring and guilt-filled days. You regret everything you've done and haven't done and you're stuck in a place where you can't really do anything because a bunch of annoying religious-types decided a long time ago that Sunday was Punishment Day and all the banks and fun stores and cool things should be shut down or unavailable. This is the day you sit on your hands and watch your life spin out of control all around you. Don't even say anything because you won't get a response... It's Sunday.
Oddly enough, I never felt that way when I was working my real-person job at Defamer because I liked feeling important and didn't mind pushing through until Monday when my routine would kick in again. It's all leftover emotional shit from childhood, like that famous 60 Minutes quote from My So-Called Life that says something about the ticking clock and how it feels like it's actually counting down your life. I always felt that way Sunday nights growing up. After Murder, She Wrote and Touched By an Angel, the two programs I looked forward to all week, the week was over for good and what you've done and not done was in the books for life. It's like the night before running a marathon that you have to run to save your life or something. Who the fuck wants to wake up and run that day?
Not this lady.
So I'm metaphorically carb-loading and putting Band-Aids on my nipples right now. When you run 26 miles in a mesh tank top, your nipples are bound to wind up bloody.
Sundays are boring and guilt-filled days. You regret everything you've done and haven't done and you're stuck in a place where you can't really do anything because a bunch of annoying religious-types decided a long time ago that Sunday was Punishment Day and all the banks and fun stores and cool things should be shut down or unavailable. This is the day you sit on your hands and watch your life spin out of control all around you. Don't even say anything because you won't get a response... It's Sunday.
Oddly enough, I never felt that way when I was working my real-person job at Defamer because I liked feeling important and didn't mind pushing through until Monday when my routine would kick in again. It's all leftover emotional shit from childhood, like that famous 60 Minutes quote from My So-Called Life that says something about the ticking clock and how it feels like it's actually counting down your life. I always felt that way Sunday nights growing up. After Murder, She Wrote and Touched By an Angel, the two programs I looked forward to all week, the week was over for good and what you've done and not done was in the books for life. It's like the night before running a marathon that you have to run to save your life or something. Who the fuck wants to wake up and run that day?
Not this lady.
So I'm metaphorically carb-loading and putting Band-Aids on my nipples right now. When you run 26 miles in a mesh tank top, your nipples are bound to wind up bloody.
Comments
Talking more shit, but not trying to be hurtful, but having it taken out of context and offending people anyway, will be big in '09, just like '08." -Torch
You need to keep reading back. I've gone over all this stuff in the last two years.
Well
It's Monday, Sundays Done Son!
Sundays are all the sadness of endings and all the bad nerves of beginnings at once, but still they weren't a complete wash for me as a kid because Nick at Nite had on two episodes of The Dick Van Dyke Show on before 11.