There's just something about sundays that makes you want to kill yourself.
There are various ways that one can elevate the pain that Sundays cause.
Watching a film. Doing something productive. Organising a desk? Files? Fuck it. There is literally nothing you can do to escape the wrath of Sundays.
I spent a lot of this weekend seeing friends that I hadn't seen in a long time. I had a really great weekend. However, I now find myself sitting in the heat at 5.30 pm on a Sunday. The mood says its 8pm but the light outside says its 3pm. It is SUCH a bizarre feeling. I feel obliged to get organised for tomorrow? Hazy memories from my childhood remind me of the importance of spending Sunday nights being organised and ready for school the next day.