On the good use of a Sunday

Yesterday, I found a pair of underwear (pink, to be exact) in one of the toilet stall one my floor. Today, I found a dollar (same stall, by the way). I guess that's the difference between Saturday and Sunday...

I spent the day home, in my room, reading, thinking, watching Netflix (oh I'm so happy Netflix didn't exist when I did my PhD. I swear, I'd still be at it...) In a kind of equal parts. Sundays are about rest, about getting my mind ready for the work that awaits me on Mondays. For a while, I resented working on Sundays, when I was writing my dissertation. True, there were no differences between any days of the week. But after the dissertation, I started to enjoy this semi efficient work day. I would prep classes, write papers, grade. Nothing too strenuous, and yet, going to bed on Sunday night, after cooking meals for most of the week, there would be a sense of appeasement. The same pleasure as when I veer away from the work to write: stealing time.

There's no cooking allowed at the Webster, of course. If they could, they would probably try to forbid the use of knives to butter up a piece of bread. But there is still that same sense of preparing your mind for the week, allowing it to get back into the work gear. Maybe that's why I love Mondays so much: this sense that everything is possible. All the words finally falling into place. Books better understood because you took a few days off. Answers arriving, finally, reassuringly, to offer you a piece of your future.