Why are Sundays filled with sadness and gloom?
They are the February of days, the dark ages of time, the black hole of the universe.
I hate them.
I feel lonelier than on any other day. I allow my imagination to run wild and then am even more let down when faced with the foolishness of my fanciful, whimsical thoughts.
I am embarrassed that my mind can wonder so freely and yet so specifically into scenarios and at the same time they offer me my only solace from the doldrums of the day.
Today, I was thinking would be different. I was hoping to awake and see the sun through my window and sense the continuation of the beautiful weather in our nation's capital. But the sky is thick with dense, sticky clouds.
My plans of basking the sun while continuing through Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged (AMAZING), and taking dips in the chilled blue pool were over. I was left in my bed to think about Sunday in all its...
Sundayness.....
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