I start dreading Sunday sometime around Friday afternoon. Like, “oh hey, awesome, the weekend’s here…but don’t get too used to it, Sunday is looming on the horizon.”
It’s not particularly original, hating Sunday. If you have a job, if Monday means waking up and realizing that another week of work stretches endlessly before you, then chances are you’ve dreaded a Sunday or two or all.
I’m just not so sure everyone cries about it, like me.
The truth is, I had a great Sunday. I laid around in my underwear with the Boy until he forced me to put on some clothes for a Dunkin Donuts run. We followed that up with some disappointingly non-greasy pizza and some football and some more underwear because, really, I cannot be bothered by pants on the weekend.
After a drive into Manhattan and a trip to the grocery store, we ended the day on the couch (a recurring theme, clearly), with him browsing law school brochures while I flipped through a Victoria’s Secret catalogue (a clear indication of who brings the brains and who brings the sexy in our little operation).
Not bad, right? And yet. And yet. The entire day I was a bit…down. Fending off concern from the Boy with forced smiles and “I’m fine! Really! Kiss me! You smell so good! More pizza?”
I broke down around midnight, in bed – too hot, then too cold with the window open, then uncomfortable leaning on his chest, then uncomfortable on my side and then too restless and then too tired and then and then…tears.
I was dreading coming into work today. Dreading starting another week of long hours and an aching jaw and waking up early so that I can fit some gym time and trying to make healthy choices at lunch but succumbing later to a frosting-filled cookie sandwich because food makes me happy and sometimes my job does not.
The Boy understands. He doesn’t always understand the tears, but he’s pretty good at wiping them away. When I’m a mess, I need reassurance about my professional future, sure, which he gives me. But I also need reassurance about our future, reassurance that no matter what happens he will always be my rock.(Sometimes I wish I could force him to sign a contract in blood – someone really needs to get on bringing that back.) It’s crazy how my mind works – job worries that can only quelled with a reminder that my relationship is rock solid. I understand that he can’t read my mind and that if he hears I’m worried about work, he’s going to offer solutions and condolences about work. I don’t think he’s quite clear on the concept that I’m not a normal person with normal thought patters. Probably a good thing.
I went to the gym this morning and, on the walk back, I started to feel better. Much better. About ten minutes before I had to leave for work, I hopped into bed next to him and nuzzled my face in his scruff and felt…stupid. For last night. For getting worked up. For letting anxiousness mixed with dread get the best of me. For ruining a perfect Sunday with Crazy Girlfriend Time.
Because now I’m at work. And I’m fine. And I know I’ll get through this week just fine. It may take a frosting-filled cookie sandwich or two, but hey.
In college, mine was stomachaches on Monday morning after spending the weekend with my then-boyfriend. I called it “The Mondays.” It’s pretty normal… although certainly not desireable to dread your workweek. It feels like you’re living multiple lives, doesn’t it?
Hopefully you’re able to find something in the future that doesn’t incite dread. Good luck!
Have you ask for that raise yet? Being appreciated and compensated makes going to work a lot easier.
It’s hard to believe that work at a place with a pool table could be so dreadful. But I totally know what you mean, and it DOES happen to everyone.
Sundays are lazy.
Sundays are unproductive.
Sundays cause anxiety for Mondays.
You work out…don’t feel guilty about eating yummy things to make the day go by, it’s understandable and clearly necessary.
Have a good week
When other areas of your life are stressful and frustrating, it’d be nice for one thing to remain stable and sane. Totally understandable about the tears, Clink.
I am actually really happy at my job so haven’t been dreading Mondays for awhile. But I spent most of my weekend like you: football, couch, pizza, and cute boy. And mostly I was dreading him having to go home this morning.
Sundays suck and they go by too quickly.
Maybe it’s the time of year. I was all weepy and indulging in a couple glasses of wine yesterday. Something about the cooler weather and quiet afternoon made it feel empty. But B. was there for me, as always. It’s nice to have someone to lean on when your emotions get the best of you. But of course, sometimes a frosty cookie can work wonders…
Imagine going through all that minus the Boy and you’ve got me. I feel the same as you, but sadly no one to share my sad Sundays with.
I could never go to work everyday at a job that I didn’t enjoy, no matter what it paid.
I completely understand. For me the tears used to start around 9:30 Sunday morning about halfway through the paper.