Sunday: The Day of Restless

by Patti

Sun·day  

/ˈsəndā/

Noun The day of the week before Monday and following Saturday, observed by Christians as a day of rest and religious worship.

Let me start out by saying that I am not particularly religious. You won't find me kneeling all reverent-like in church on a Sunday, and you won't find me resting because I'm "supposed" to. However, when it comes to Sunday, I don't mind adopting what Christians observe to be the Day of Rest because, quite frankly, it makes sense. After all, I work my butt off at a full-time job all week while also making sure my house and family don't self-destruct, and I spend Saturdays hauling the kid around and running errands, and if I am lucky, throwing in a lunch with a friend. By the time Sunday rolls around, I need to rest.

However.

Uh-oh

I think there was an oversight on this whole Day of Rest business. Somebody somewhere forgot that people need clean clothes, that a kitchen floor becomes in desperate need of scrubbing, that a dog runs out of food, that refrigerators become mysteriously empty, that bills need paying - and because there is school and work and other time-suckers like that which also need doing, Sunday suddenly becomes the only day to get all of it done before Monday comes rudely barreling into your Day of Rest again.

I'm not going to lie: by the time Sunday rolls around, I kind of start feeling a little grouchy. I love sleeping in on Sundays and enjoying our leisurely, traditional Sunday family breakfast; I love cuddling with the kid and the dog on the couch while I attempt to snatch a few paragraphs of a good book, but somewhere inside, I feel those nagging grumps. I feel gloomy knowing Monday is coming, like it or not, and before I know it, the alarm will scream into my ear while it is still dark outside and I will once again begin the week-long shuffle of figuring out what to wear and what to eat. And then my day of rest? Becomes the day of restless. World problems, I know!

Sure, I could be one of those people who gleefully say, "Eff it! The dishes will still be there!" and just not bother with the growing pile in my kitchen sink. I could throw my hands up playfully and shout, "Tonight? It's Cap'n Crunch for dinner!" I could simply lie down in my bed and cover myself with sheets that haven't seen soap in three weeks. Why not? It's natural!

Alas, I just can't. So, I guess it is what it is, and I should be so lucky that I have that extra day in the week to take care of business. Perhaps I am committing some sort of sin by making Sunday my day of restless, but I, together with all those other pinch-faced people I see pushing their carts in Target on Sundays, am willing to take that risk. As for the rest of you, the ones ever-so-smartly lounging in that recliner, can you move your feet? I need to vacuum.