I relish my weekends, more so lately as I seem to be working longer and longer hours on school days that bleed into my evenings. The opportunity to sleep in, taking comfort in the additional time wrapped up in my covers, knowing that there’s nowhere I have to be, nothing I have to do, paired with the unstructured day ahead, where I can choose to do anything I want to do (even if it’s nothing at all), is the very definition of luxury. My weekends are the time when I recharge my proverbial batteries, catch up on the things I want to do, rather than the things I have to do. During the month of March, my mornings are spent lazing on the couch, a cup of tea in one hand with my laptop on my lap, reading and commenting on my fellow slicers’ posts, while I enjoy the mid-morning sun streaming in through the windows and the light spring breeze coming through the open patio door.
Sundays start out just as promising as Saturdays, my morning routine the same, except for when I catch up with Shags on Facetime like today (I always welcome this break in the routine), but somewhere around lunchtime, time speeds up, the grains of sand falling faster than they should, and before I know it, Sunday’s almost gone. As time flies, I begin mourning the loss, knowing that the impending morning will be here quicker than I expect, the alarm interrupting my perfect slumber, stirring– no shaking– me awake, bringing me back to the realization that I can no longer sleep, that I can’t ease into the day, waking with the sun as I had done when it was Sunday.
I wonder, is it the knowing that it’s coming that eats up my Sundays? Does anyone else feel like their Sundays are fleeting? Or is it just me?