I´ve felt like this for a long, long time. I don´t mean I don´t like Sundays, they´re the days I can do a little of everything, which is very important for me. I can rest, I can work on some new (or not) handicraft, I can talk on the telephone, I can even go out to eat something different … But Sundays make me down. Sundays smell like my mother´s cooking, the white linen tablecloth on the living room table, guests for lunch and finally, at the end of the evening, my father coming home from his fishing trip.
Chris Christopherson says:
“There is something on a Sunday that makes everybody feel alone.”
That´s exactly how I feel. Alone. Nanny is screaming outside, my son is laughing, there´s a couple watching TV and talking to my daughter-in-law,the dogs are barking now and then, but I feel as if I were standing in a square, people passing carrying their umbrellas, rushing to get somewhere because it´s drizzling in the late afternoon and I, standing there, nowhere to go and nothing waiting for me. Of course it´s not reality, ´cause I´ve always had somewhere to go (!?), but that´s how I feel.
Why is it so? Because I miss my childhood? It would be hard to understand, because my childhood was far from being pleasant and easy. I´ve already given some thought to finding some work to do on Sundays, like baby-sitting in hotels or reading to old people. Thank god none of them became real, for I guess I would have felt worse. I´d probably have missed my melancholy moments , my invisible reality. Sundays may be our invisible reality, the one we try to disrupt all week long. The day we have left for the truth.
Anyway, as you must have guessed, today is Sunday. Another blue Sunday. Tomorrow will be another day. Tomorrow is Monday!!!
8 comments:
woman in the well, I wrote about my Sundays, my precious Sundays several blogs ago and many people just couldn't believe that I'd spend Sundays ironing in front of the TV catching up with episodes of the English soap on TV. These days I have to be dragged out of the house on a Sunday. My Sunday yesterday smelled of chicken roasting in the oven - an overpowering smell cos I added more garlic to the butter which was labbelled garlic butter!
And also buttered bagguette on the grill while the coffee was brewing. And I was all alone! Wonderful!
Yes, I remember your ironing in front of the TV ... But, being alone is different from feeling alone.
Aye, i empathize most heartily with that feeling. Sunday sometimes feels like a nothing day. All empty. All lonely.
S.x
gostei daqui.
Welcome, Luisa.
at this moment of my life where deadlines conquer all aspects of my life, there seems to be no sundays (even sadder than feeling alone, dont you think) i cant wait to get out of my student role. btw, i feel guilty that you still visit my blog even though i sometimes use my mother tongue. do you ever write in portuguese? are you more expressive in english?
Yes, Atenah, I write in Portuguese; it´s my mother tongue, but i wouldn´t be able to communicate to many people of distant cultures if i didn´t write in English. Speaking to Brazilians all the time would be almost like talking to myself ...
Yes, Asya, I totally agree. Thanks for being here.
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