Sunday Scaries

Let the flurries flutter and float toward the frost-covered fields.

Sink into every sip, savoring Sunday’s silence.

Yes, Sunday Silences.

So much better than the “Sunday Scaries.”

Yet, they lurk around every corner, don’t they? This morning, Tina asks her Squad:

Yesterday, in the few hours before Saturday turned to Sunday, Amy anticipates the way

the pull of Monday

will singe the edges

of my Sunday

I can hate Sundays, too. Fear there is too much left undone.

Fill my day with hope and regret, a see-saw of scaries.

When I haven’t paid bills yet.

When I haven’t planned out my week yet.

When I haven’t set out something for dinner yet.

When we start a home-improvement project at four o’clock in the afternoon.

When I haven’t added a single word to my work in progress, and not just today, but for days at a time.

When I think about tomorrow morning’s meeting that means I’m minus my morning carpool companion.

I grieve.

I mourn.

I long for more time.

That is why I worked late Friday. Stayed past the “can I walk out with you” invitation that came at quarter-to-five.

That is why I worked longer than I meant to Saturday. Planned for weekdays even though I left my plans at work.

That is why I stayed in bed late, reading my book, slicing this slice, savoring this silence.

Because I choose the moment when Sunday becomes the start of the work week.

It’s usually when we realize that trash day is tomorrow.

When I set the coffee pot for the Monday-morning meeting.

Sometimes, it is not at all:

Sunday settles into serene silence.

And sneaks into Monday while I am sleeping soundly.

Try as we might, Monday does come, soon enough.

So for now,

Let the flurries flutter and float toward the frost-covered fields.

Sink into every sip, savoring Sunday’s silence.

Nothing scary about that.

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