Sundays

Sundays are the worst. The thought of a fresh week sits in my head. The homework sits in a pile as the sun slowly turns the surroundings gold. A horrible gold. NPR radio whispers in my ear from the background. Boredom sets in.

When I lie in bed on Sunday nights I always think about the past. I think about the memories from my childhood that are too blurry. I can't remember them clearly. I am only seventeen, why are they so blurry? I think about graduating from middle school. I think about the friends I have lost over time. I think about having kids. I convince myself I don't want kids. They ruin everything. But if I don't have kids what will I do my whole life. People have kids because they don't have anything else to do. I think about all this and more. Silly things that I make important in my own head.

All because of Sunday. I never think about these things on the weeknights. I am too caught up in everyday life to think about these things the rest of the nights. I can't fall asleep on Sundays so I turn on the radio. I listen to a financial adviser talk about money.

Emotions from the whole week sit in a pool on my chest. I swim in the pool. The rancid water gives me blisters but I swim anyways.

I hate Sundays.