has it seriously been a week?

Sunday nights are always a drag, even when I enjoy what I’m going to be doing on Monday morning. I get my clothes ready for the next day, which sounds incredibly anal retentive until I point out that I cycle to the university and shower there, so I need to pack up my clothes anyhow. And if I do the packing the night before, I’m much less likely to forget critical undergarments, which has been known to happen. It all seems to fussy, though, and boring, to contemplate tomorrow’s outfit while sitting here on the couch still in my jammies from last night. I love being able to stay in my jammies all day on a semi-rainy Sunday!

Then I need to make sure I’ve prepared for the seminars I’m leading tomorrow, make sure there’s lunch to bring with me, sort out what books and papers I need to bring along and what I’m better off leaving here.

I convince myself that this planning isn’t anywhere near as much fun as the joyous shenanigans I’ve been getting up to all weekend. But what exactly have those shenanigans consisted of? An entire day of grading papers, lots of sleep, paying bills, budgeting, and answering neglected emails. The highlights were the delicious roast lamb dinner fixed by my lovely and talented husband, the delicious leftovers for lunch, and the delicious scones with butter and jam also made by my lovely and talented husband. (I am in fact cooking dinner tonight, thank you, and I did the washing up.)

What does this tell me? Food is my only joy? I’d rather be paying bills and answering emails than writing my thesis? I don’t think so. I think it’s just a hangover from umpteen years of school and office jobs. I think I could go for years, spending my weekends emptying septic tanks and my Monday mornings eating bonbons in a hot tub with Johnny Depp, and still I would think that Sunday nights suck.

In fact, I think I’ll bag my research project and switch to psychology. Get a grant and make millions. I’m sure Johnny won’t mind. Or my husband…

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