After a pretty awesome day of hanging out with a bunch of friends at Delaware Park (the food was $5, the hanging out on the soccer field was free), and now getting ready to work tomorrow, the dreaded feeling of Sunday Night is already settling itself in again.
The worse part of the work week isn’t Monday morning but the night before. Sunday Night. The night when one needn’t have any worries for it’s the night when any and all worries show themselves. The work week looming, the weekend lost, and play time over. To make matters worse, everything is closed, dead, empty, vacant, silent, uninviting and lonely. There’s never anything good on TV to distract your mind and, even though Sunday Night’s the best of all nights to drink, there’s never enough people out at the bars to create a crowd to get lost in. Instead it’s just you and whatever decides to ail you.
I hate Sunday Night more than any time of the work week.
The work week. Already infiltrating my thoughts and I’ve only worked 3.5 hours over the last three months.
1 comment:
After a hot walk through the zoo with smells hotter than your un-deodorized taco pits, I happily drank at bars until Midnight this particular Sunday.
The crowd lacked in quantity but they made up for it by being quality a--holes to make fun of.
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