"In the end, it was the Sunday afternoons he couldn't cope with, and that terrible listlessness that starts to set in about 2:55, when you know you've taken all the baths that you can usefully take that day, that however hard you stare at any given paragraph in the newspaper you will never actually read it, or use the revolutionary new pruning technique it describes, and that as you stare at the clock the hands will move relentlessly on to four o'clock, and you will enter the long dark teatime of the soul."
- Douglas Adams, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy
I think this describes every one of my weekends that I spend home alone.
Saturday was productive. Sunday morning was productive. The beginning of Sunday afternoon was productive. But now? It's 10:00 at night, I have to get ready for work tomorrow, and my house is still a mess. A different mess than it was on Friday night - I did accomplish quite a bit this weekend - but I also half-finished a bunch of projects that are now strewn about the place.
1 comment:
Oh yes. A big part of me hates Sundays and has since middle school.
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