I’d Pick Sunday

Sunday mornings are relaxed, sleeping until I awake, coffee in bed watching CBS Sunday Morning and then writing.  On the other hand, Friday mornings are up early, hurry around and get to work.

Most of the day Sunday is spent doing whatever my heart desires while most of the Friday is spent at work doing what someone else demands.

Sunday evenings are similar to Friday evenings, sometimes there’s something to do, sometimes there’s not.

Sunday wins easily 2-0 with evenings a tie…but Friday’s still favored.

When I think forward to Friday, it’s a happy anticipation. Friday is the eve of the best day of the week, Saturday, and like roadies for a rock star, catches the overflow of love.

Truth be known, Friday is just evil Monday’s good twin brother.  Not much happens on either day that doesn’t happen on the other; up early, work all day, go home, do whatever needs doing at home.  Poor Monday gets all the flack but if you had amnesia and no calendar you couldn’t tell the two apart.

Garfield’s syndicate has made a fortune pasting the disgruntled orange cat on posters, tee shirts and mugs grumbling, “I hate Mondays.” Yet Friday gets its own acronym, TGIF, “Thank God It’s Friday”.  It’s a wonder Monday hasn’t completely quit and gone into another line of work.

Sunday isn’t quite as similar to Saturday as Monday is to Friday, only because both weekend days offer so much freedom…far more freedom than any weekday. And I wake up both weekend days feeling great, like the day is my oyster. The feeling lasts until bedtime on Saturday but just past 3 PM on Sunday, a full seven hours before my waking hours are over.

Around 3 the oppressive weight of the workweek starts to burden my heart. Even though I’ve got the equivalent of almost two weekday evenings of free-time left before bedtime I feel the burden of responsibility descending like a dementor on Harry Potter.

The kicker is, I love my job. Except for having to get up to an alarm clock, I don’t mind getting around and going in. The downside to working isn’t the work, it’s the inability to do whatever else crosses my mind…compared to most, that’s really not that bad a deal. Yet it’s the impending workweek that makes Sunday evenings such a downer.

I know full well Sundays are better, far better, than Fridays, it’s not even close, but my heart doesn’t seem to agree. Still, if you give me the choice between Friday and Sunday, like a teen girl choosing the Captain of the Debate Team over a biker-dropout, I’d pick Sunday.