Sundays never really agree with me; there is a stigma about Sunday that means I never seem to have a good day regardless of what I do. If it’s the seventh day of the week, I’m going to be in a foul mood at some point. Sure, I might get stuff done and have a productive day but still I can’t help but feel somewhat negative. The obvious response would be that Sunday is the second half of the weekend; a subtle reminder that your short break is almost over and you’ll be back to work tomorrow. Even if you start the day positively, you are going to find yourself cursing as the clock nears six o’clock and you realize that Monday is awaiting. It’s a horrible feeling isn’t it?
The problem I have is that I’m not even working any more (well, for the time being), so I’m not quite sure what my problem is. In fact, I actually have plans tomorrow to visit one of my friends in Newcastle, which is hardly something I’m dreading to do (I offer the best compliments: ‘I’m not filled with trepidation at the thought of spending time with you! Woo!‘). There is no reason to not like this particularly Sunday, but I still find myself grumbling through the day.
It could be down to Chelsea’s awful performance in the Club World Cup. I try to refrain from talking about football here in the main, as a) it probably won’t interest a lot of you and b) I’ll only talk about football if I can brag, and recently there hasn’t been much to brag about. Therefore I keep quiet. But I got up early to watch Chelsea play in Japan, only to be rewarded with a dire performance that immediately started my day on a bad point. If they’d won, this Sunday might have broken the trend of miserable Sundays. It’s a lot easier to get out of bed when you’re bathing in the triumph of winning a trophy nobody is interested in. There could have been singing and dancing, celebrations galore.
Well there probably wouldn’t have been because, like I said, it wasn’t a game that really mattered. I’d have been happy, sure, but I wouldn’t be bragging about it. I save that for much bigger victories, such as the Champions League. Bearing the relative insignificance of the match, I can then hardly contribute this defeat to today’s generally negative outlook. It hasn’t helped but there must be more to it than that.
And it’s not like I’ve done nothing since then. I’ve sorted out my room, I’ve done my washing, I’ve made space by putting stuff in the attic and I’ve found a few things that had gone missing when we moved. Planned out the train times for tomorrow too. All in all, I’ve been rather productive this afternoon. And yet I can’t help but feel ‘meh’.
It must just be a Sunday feeling that is permanently stuck with me, no matter what I do. Even if I write 4000 words this evening, finish my book and find a ten pound note stuck to my window (the wind blew it there) I’ll probably still shrug my shoulders and act laissez-faire (I’d use the accents but I haven’t quite worked out how to) about it all.
Hold on a minute. I have a big bowl of jelly in the fridge! I made it last night and completely forgot about it!
Ignore everything I’ve just said. I was wrong. Sundays. Are. Awesome.
writingonthecitadel 
I agree, I always feel like Sunday is a pointless day…
At least Heartbeat isn’t on now.
When I was a child hearing that theme tune made me cry as it was the beginning of the end.
OMG same! I loved that programme!