Sunday, 21 February 2016
Story #180 - A love for Sunday
It's Sunday. I've been waiting for her since Monday morning. It's been a while since I last saw her with clear eyes. With a clear schedule. With a clear mind.
When she arrives, I should be more thrilled than I am, but for some reason I'm bored of this scarcity. In fact, why does she have to come once every seven days? Why can't she be here daily, or by-weekly?
Does she know that because she's that special to us, she chose the best day of the week to grace us with her presence?
And is it really the best day?
Just think about it. Yesterday you had time to recover after those five dreadful days, and today, while you're enjoying your time, you can't help but feel that you're counting down the minutes until it reaches midnight and you go back to your job, back to something most don't enjoy, back to the daily dread, back to an incarceration against your will. Of course, the alternative to that is to live on the streets. Or to figure out something where you're the boss. That takes patience.
It's Sunday. Supposed to be the day of the week. It doesn't feel like that anymore.