I dislike Sundays. Specifically, Sunday evenings. I get off of work at 8PM, and it doesn’t leave me with much free time for anything, because I have to be to work at 11AM on Monday morning. Now, I know what you’re thinking; “Shawno, you lazy bastard. You have 15 hours between those two work shifts. What’s the problem?” Well, I’ll use tonight to demonstrate my point.
As you should’ve read in the first paragraph, my Sunday evening work shift ended at 8PM. Immediately after that, I began cooking dinner, and by the time dinner was made and consumed, it was certainly approaching 10PM. Of course, Jen finished off the leftover wine from Valentine’s Day with dinner, and that put her in a chatty mood, so we spent the next hour or so sitting on the couch, talking. And that’s just fine. But by then, it was 11PM, and I really needed to get the dishes washed. So I washed the dishes. And now I’m typing this. It’s just after midnight. In order to get a decent night’s rest and still get a walk in before work tomorrow (today!) I’ll need to be in bed around 1AM. That gives me not quite an hour of true “free time,” and I don’t appreciate that one bit.
Which means I really should stop writing this and go do something less productive for awhile. I think I’ll watch the last of last week’s “The Daily Show” and “Colbert Report” episodes, and if I’m lucky, I’ll squeeze some reading in right before I go to bed.
Anyway, Sundays suck.
Historically Sundays do suck. As a kid they sucked because there was family stuff, visiting old people who make you take your shoes off at the door and sit on the couch and be quiet. It meant dinner at grammas house, and your jerk cousin giving you indian burns on both arms till his mom caught on, homework, getting laundry put away, the impending doom of school. When you get older it’s hangovers, rug burns and the dreaded Monday morning. It really never gets better, except now I don’t have indian, or rug burns and I have clothes I have to iron.
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