Sundays

I like Sundays. I like walking into a familiar space at home and realising that I have never seen it before.  I like not having to hurry up stuff because I don’t have to be anywhere. I like moving furniture around just to see if it will look as good as it did in my head. I like the rare quietness that the home offers to me on Sunday afternoons. I like Sunday afternoons. They seem like dramatic twilights before my life begins the next day. Today I noticed that the doorbell buzzer is right above the showcase. I have lived here 5 years and I had no idea where the door bell buzzer was. I went up to my terrace today to find that all the plastic chairs have withered and died. The plants looked sprightly and the table looked dusty. I like dust because then I have something to clean. I like watching the sunlight stealing into the room’s warmth. Today it picked all of my big books, ones that I have not read and don’t plan to. It threw out a brilliant dash of color on the ceiling as it touched all of my books. Sometimes, when I feel like I may never see this again, I take a picture.

 I don’t like having early baths on Sundays. I like saving it for the end of the day, unlike the other days when I’m madly obsessive about not stepping out of the house without having bath. The bathing time on Sunday is all mine. I get to pick happy thoughts to think about while I shower. I have time to look at the yellow on ceiling tiles. I have time to smile at the broken switch that I usually curse on other mornings. Mental note: need to get the switch fixed. It’s not long before I realise that I have tons of things to do so I make a list. Pointless, but important because lists made in the bathroom are always life altering. If I stuck to every vow made to myself in the bathroom, had the balls to go back to my past to tell mean people exactly what I think about them; sticking word by word to my award winning  speech rehearsed in the bathroom, I would be the same person, only happier. Maybe even be able to write better.

Sometimes I think I like myself better only when I’m having bath. Because I make sexy plans and am so much cooler when I am in the bathroom than when I step out into the real world with leaves and everything. When I do step out, I like settling down on the sofa and watching nonsense on the television. I like putting my feet up on the table and watching TV. I don’t like sharing this space with anybody.  Every now and then I like to look out of the window to see leaves falling. I don’t know what this tree is called. It is huge and has pink flowers. I have seen it every day of my life for the past 5 years, except when I am not in town. I must find out what it’s called. Why am I so used to seeing these things every day? Where do my weekdays go? What do I think of when I’m looking at this tree on other days?

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