I can't help but lose myself in the future on Sunday nites.
I live in carefree weekend thoughts and feelings until about two or three in the afternoon. Then I realize that Sunday is moving along at a steady clip.
Dinner time is approaching, and I haven't yet gone to the grocery store.
I still have two stories to complete and several more to edit.
The pile of dirty laundry on my bathroom floor is still a pile of dirty laundry on my bathroom floor instead of a pile of clean laundry on my bed.
My mind quickly moves to Monday morning. What time do I have to wake up the kids? What projects are due at my various "jobs?" What will I wear? Do I have any meetings? Will I miss the finale of "The Bachelor?"
Then it's just a hop, skip and jump to Tuesday (I need to register Gabi for High School), Wednesday (the phone bill is due), and on and on.
I'm grinding my teeth.
I'm biting my cuticles. (Ugh--I need to repaint my horribly chipped nails)
There's really no reason for Sunday nite to encourage these obsessive, anxious feelings, but it does. It's a mixture of dread and anticipation. A benediction and a commencement.
It's weekend purgatory.
The only answer is a stiff drink and a hot bath.
Adieu, Sunday Nite, Adieu...