Every Day Was Like Sunday

Let me just start off by saying that I was never a fan of The Smiths (or The Cure or Depeche Mode). I know. That's blasphemy for some of you. And God created KROQ just for you. They were just too whiny. Blah blah blah gloom. Blah blah blah love. Blah blah blah gloomy love. Give me Bauhaus or Bowie if you want androgyny in your music. Reznor if you require a synthesizer. But that's not really what this post is about.

For the past two weeks, I've been feeling like every day has been Sunday. And that damn Morrissey song has been ringing in my head. Every night I would go to bed thinking, "Crap. Tomorrow's laundry day. Do I have quarters? No, wait, today was Sunday. No, that can't be, because yesterday was Sunday. Farg, what the hell day it is anyway?!?" And you can't rely on television to guide you, because all the shows are on hiatus. Everything just slowed down. But there's still work to do the next day. Yet, you can't really get any work done because some people are on vacation, but others are on deadline. It's been confusing as all hell. And I'm looking forward to getting back to business as usual.

Jeebus. I can't believe I just typed that.

I've never had so much time on my hands and been so unproductive. Maybe it's my heater. I should probably have it checked for fumes. These past two weeks have been a massive, pseudo-hibernation, and I am so over it. And I've been craving brunch martinis like they are going out of style, but everyone was either out of town or at work, and some were questioning why I wanted a cocktail for breakfast on a Wednesday. "But it feels like Sunday, doesn't it?" Then I was told that the first step is admitting you have a problem. Well, the only problem I'm having is that the days drag on like a month of Sundays. But, after this Sunday, a proper Monday will finally arrive. And it scares me just a little to think I'm actually looking forward to that.