I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why I have such a hard time with Sunday nights. I can never get myself to go to sleep at a decent hour and I never sleep all through the night. I don’t have to get up at an ungodly hour, I don’t have to fight rush hour traffic and even if I were a tidbit late, I don’t punch in a time clock. No one will care!
Yet, I start this ritual after dinner, of picking out my outfit for the next day, packing my lunch, setting out my glasses and purse and all the crap that I pile up by the door so I don’t forget anything in the morning. None of it is life or death for god’s sake.
I suppose it is just some strange physiological aversion to Mondays. But I’m sensing I’m not the only one.