Sunday, Sunday, just turns out that way…Posted: October 24, 2010
For years, as is only right and proper I think, I worked Sundays. Sundays, Mondays, all days in which I would be paid and could then survive another week in uni…I say survive, evidently I am in a dramatic mood this morning, I was never horrendously badly off in uni, there was always enough for some wine or a night out or a DVD. Or chocolate. This would then be followed by pasta and sauce or some such bland meal for the week, which was (and is, tbh) completely fine with me—I haven’t yet remembered that I am supposed to be an adult and shouldn’t blow all my cash on having fun. Some day, presumably I will have to learn this horrible lesson.
Anyway, through the horrible, evil accessories shop (shall remain nameless), the call centre, the shoe shop, the other call centre (for about five months the final two ran concurrently) I worked Sundays. Loads of them. Then I got my current, best, most beloved job (in the subject I actually studied and did a Masters in, whoop!) and lo! Sunday was free. A lifetime (see what I mean about the drama…) of Sundays stretched ahead of me like a beautiful sea of laziness.
So I always appreciate this day, even if I waste it completely by being hungover (*cough* not often, obviously). I used to dedicate my Sunday to coffee and the papers but my to-be-read pile has built to epic proportions and is, thus, more pressing.
So here is my perfect Sunday…a lie-in, chat, phonecall from parents (11am on the dot), music (starts loudly, gets more chilled as the afternoon goes on), reading, arranging *playlists on m’iphone, pondering, dondering, wandering and milling…not necessarily in that order. We also have a running tradition of my flatmate forcing me to look at her feet…long story…
*Playing at the moment K’naan’s Bang Bang which has caught my music bone good and proper (this exists, right?).