I'm sitting in my room, with the sunlight streaming in mildly through my yellow curtains. Harry Connick Jr. sings soulfully in the background, and though I am here trying to get through a book on taxation I keep thinking to myself how much I enjoy Sundays.
Saturday carries with it the pressure to be epic, and then it brings heart-breaking disappointment when you do not spend it getting trashed on a dance floor somewhere, grinding with some strange and exotic person, partying hard because you are not that kind of person, really. though i sometimes wonder how it would feel to be that kind of person for a day, for me even the most enjoyable Saturdays are very much like my Sundays, slow-paced and leisurely, filled with good food, coffee, actual conversations and restful moments.
It sometimes makes me wish I lived in a time when even weekdays were this slow, when we weren't so distracted being pummeled by ads and shows and stores and the new-fab-weekend-thing-to-do left and right, and days started slowing down at 6, and people had actual conversations and not just phone calls and texts in transit.
i have this image of a perfect sunday somewhere in my future. me, cooking pancakes and grinning at the laughter of happy little children in the background, and feeling that everything is finally, enough. so much enough that the world can afford to stand still and if that were the last moment ever I would not have anything more that I could wish for.
oh sunday. look at what you do to me. let us just watch clouds and enjoy the moment, shall we?
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