Sunday Sighs

When I was little, I didn't like Sundays. I would spend all weekend with my beloved grandparents, and then on Sunday evenings, they would drive me back home to my mother's. My during-the-week home. There was nothing wrong with it, really, I just didn't fit in there. And I was miserable every Sunday night. My poor mother must have been very hurt, every time mopey me would come home, hug my grandmother good-bye, and slump off to my room.

Now, years later, I am not sure all that much has changed. I like Sundays because they are my days off. But one of two things invariably ends up happening: I end up spending the day with one of my girlfriends or the boyfriend, or else I am at home all day, doing various chores. And there's nothing wrong with either of those scenarios, it's just...there's no happy medium. Either I am out having a nice time, and not getting anything done, or I am at home, getting stuff done and feeling a little lonely.

This Sunday, it's me, at home, cleaning, working on my "Vision Board", trying to dodge the cats. And I am feeling a little empty, a little lonely. I think it's because, back in Indiana with Michael and Florida with John, I got in the habit of viewing Sunday as "Couple's Day." One of the few times I would have to spend with my significant other, and yeah, we'd have to do pain-in-the-ass chores--laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping--but it was still fun and pleasant because I would be doing with the partner, and it would feel like there was a point to it.

And now...big adjustment. No laundry facilities. And just me. And yes, I know there is still a point to it--I am not a completely useless female that cannot stand to be alone--but it's just not the same.