Today, I am mourning the passing of Saturday. Saturdays dawn bright with possibility; it's a whole entire day full of hours before the last day of the weekend. You can pack a bunch of errands into a Saturday, do some chores, then even waste a little time reading at Starbucks or shopping or, say, cruising the frozen foods aisle, and still feel productive. Sundays, while lovely, start to feel slightly panicked toward the afternoon no matter how much stuff you're getting done. It's as if time is actually speeding up until suddenly dinner is over and there is nothing left to do but stare stupidly at the interminable week sprawling ahead. And then weep.
Here are the things I'm trying to fit into my Sunday:
- attending church
- showering (maybe this before church)
- scoring 25 short stories
- photocopying 25 short stories for peer editing
- watching last week's "Survivor"
- finishing laundry (really finishing, with folding and hanging and such)
- going to see The Other Boleyn Girl with my bffs
- making a list of silent auction baskets for classrooms to create for a carnival
- not tearing my hair out about silent auction baskets
- taking Mason to Cub Scout bowling event
- grocery shopping (not just for frozen foods...)
- not falling asleep directly after storytime at 8:15
I'm trying to not anticipate weeping. (Especially from Stu).