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Commentary
Sundays entail varied negativity
By Nick Hanson
Published:
Monday, March 31, 2003
I have a bone to pick. It's with Sunday, the worst day of the week.
I have been building up angst and rage against Sunday for so many years that I think it's time to settle the score.
Let me walk you through a typical Sunday.
Let's begin: Wake up at 7:47 a.m., stumble to the bathroom and emptyout my near to exploding bladder for what seems like 10 minutes. Next off, it's back to bed. As I hit the mattress, the harsh realization comes that I'm probably not going to be able to fall back asleep because of my pounding headache.
After tossing and turning for a few hours, I stand up, stretch and take a gander out the window. Well, what do you know? It's a beautiful day, maybe it won't be such a bad day after all. Wrong. It's God's awful trick of deception.
I pour myself a bowl of Fruit Loops and take a stroll around the house. Not too much to my surprise, it looks like a bomb exploded in the living room. There is a stale air about that reminds me of puke, cigarettes, beer or a combination of all three.
As I finish up my cereal, I head to the kitchen. I see a towering mound of dishes complete with crusted goo and I am reminded that the dishes haven't been done all week.
Well, back to the room to get dressed I guess. I go to the drawer to pull out my favorite sweat pants, but they are not there. In fact, there is nothing in the drawer, or even in the dresser. I look to the closet, but there are no clothes there either. Where could they be! My eyes wander to the corner of the room.
The puzzle is solved. I see all of my dirty clothes in the laundry basket. Great, time to do laundry.
As I ready the laundry, I empty the pockets of my pants to see what mystery trinkets I might have found this week. My hands fall into the jeans I wore last night to discover my wallet. No. Don't look inside. But I must. Aw, no money, I'm broke. I try to recall what I spent all of my money on but can't. The only things that come to mind are Erbert's and Gerbert's and expensive, yet tasty beverages.
As expected, I get a little depressed and decide to sit down and watch television to cheer myself up. Bad choice. Apparently we are at war and a bunch of people are dying. Now I feel guilty about my sheltered American white-privileged life and have no choice but to tune out of reality and flip on MTV.
When the Real World reunion part 16 is over, I start to feel like a lazy bum. So, I force myself up and out of my chair and head over to Eastman. Things are going fine for the first five minutes of treadmill run, but suddenly my lungs start to hurt. It must have been those Basic Light's I smoked the last three nights. I make a mental note to upgrade to Marlboro's for next weekend because quitting in college is out of the question. I choke through the rest of the run and head over to the weight set. I don't have to use my lungs as much, but I am weak from taking two days off and drinking the last three nights. Time to go home.
After my shower, I sit down and try to ignore it. I try everything. I space out, bang my head against the wall and watch TV, but it keeps coming back into my mind. That's right, homework.
It's gotta be done, and man I have a lot of it. Sure, I could have spaced it out over the last couple days and nights, but that would be too logical. The longer I can put it off the better.
The library is packed because it's horrible Sunday. I have to wait 15 minutes to get a computer in the back corner of the library, and I am constantly interrupted by chatter and cell phone rings. I stay till close which means that I was there for a total of five hours. When I look at what I have accomplished, I see that I actually got about two hours worth of stuff done. The rest of the time was spend staring at the wall and at all of the weird looking people I saw walking around. Now, it's back home and to bed.
It is no wonder that more people commit suicide on Sunday than any other day of the week. As I close, I remind you all to embrace every day of the week and give it love, for it is only a matter of days until it returns. That's right, Sunday.
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