Gloomy Sunday

by doodaddy on March 18, 2008


Sunday eyes.

Basking in a glorious Tuesday nap time after two brilliant, springlike weekdays at the playground I can finally say it without screaming it:

Sunday sucks.

Sunday is the day I look at the piles of stuff all over the house and wonder, "Does everyone have piles of stuff all over the house?" And, "Does everybody let their clean laundry languish in baskets, pulling out shirts and underwear as necessary, sometimes for days?" And if so, do you just hide all the crap right before we come over?

On Sunday I think about how I won’t start teaching again for maybe seven or eight years, and a 45-year old rookie teacher is a helluva lot less charming than a 27-year old outdoor naturalist was.

Sundays, I notice ominous odd lumps and brown parts on bits of my body that I’d ignored all week. Sunday I wonder if I’ll ever get that wart removed or trim my toenails. 

Sunday, every chore I complete is dwarfed by the stack of chores left unfinished. The cute lemon tree I planted is in danger of succumbing to the weeds and ivy all around it. By the time the dishwasher is emptied, there are enough dirties waiting on the counter to fill it twice over: the week’s crusty plates all piled up for Sunday.

On Sunday, I wonder if I’m still a good friend. Everyone’s so busy with their own families and concerns now. Will we ever again just sit on the stoop with a cuppa and chat for hours about nothing in particular? Sing "King of the Road" to an out-of-tune guitar with the neighborhood kids in the yard, just to hear 7-year old voices bellow the line "I AIN’T GOT NO CIGARETTES"? Run out for midnight milkshakes at the drop of a hat? Be there to help a friend through an ER visit, or a breakup, or a life crisis? Sunday tells me that intense, supportive, 20-something-style friendship probably won’t ever happen again.

So I don’t like Sundays much.

But then Monday hits, and I’m back at the playground with Boo. Running with her pack of 4-year olds, she teaches me how to enjoy myself again. Monday, I connect again with my friends, and Monday I get on top of the laundry, finally. (Although the folded baskets still await replacement into their respective drawers for days. How do y’all cope?)

Sunday is a hurricane and Monday is my anchor.

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in exhaustion,failure,the future ·

{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }

Dr. Leah - Transformation Revolution March 18, 2008 at 5:54 pm

Wow – have you been in my house?? There are three baskets of clean, semi-folded laundry waiting for folding and putting away.

And, last night I truly did take my daughters and a friend on a 1 am milkshake run! Just blogged about it today. Too funny to see it mentioned in your blog.


cake March 18, 2008 at 7:07 pm

the feelings you described can hit me any day of the week. you just happen to be brave enough to blog about it. and yes, i do try to hide the mess when people come over. in fact, i invite people over so that i will be forced to clean up once in a while.

oh, and i tagged you because i really liked this one, and wanted to see what you would write. if you find these sorts of things annoying, i understand, and won’t be offended if you ignore it. for details:


Ophelia Rising March 19, 2008 at 4:07 am

This has got to be the most eloquent and vivid description of Sundays that I’ve read. You’ve captured it perfectly. And I thought I was the only one!

I love when a blog post hits home, and helps me to feel less alone in this wide, crazy world. Thank you. 🙂


Scott March 19, 2008 at 5:11 am

I have piles….but the doctor said that with minor surgery…I can get them removed.

Does that help ya?? 🙂


Amy March 19, 2008 at 5:18 am

Yes. We do have those piles.
Yes. We hide them when company comes…don’t you?


doodaddy March 19, 2008 at 6:33 am

Yeah, we do. Sigh. I just wish that once — just once! — the piles were actually put away for a day or two before the next pile appeared.


Xbox4NappyRash March 19, 2008 at 10:55 am

It’s a Sunday thing, they should be banned.
We should work Sundays and have Fridays off instead.

(and don’t give me all that ‘then Saturday becomes Sunday’ drivel, I’m just right, ok?)


Jessica March 19, 2008 at 12:21 pm

Usually I get stressed out from the week days. Sometimes it hits me. Its not like I don’t have enough to do with work and being a mother, pile on laundry and cleaning and cooking and sometimes I overwhelm, well alot I overwhelm. Fridays are a little relief and Sunday’s I take a nap with the kids. Sunday I try to enjoy myself because in my world Mondays are hell.

Oh, we don’t have baskets except for the dirty laundry. Our clean laundry sometimes piles on the dryer sometimes the bedroom floor and right now the cradle that Baby Bum no longer sleeps in at the foot of my bed is full. Your not alone.


doodaddy March 19, 2008 at 12:22 pm

I think my Mondays are your Fridays. Or maybe my Sundays are your Mondays. Maybe we could job-share and we’d both have all happy days!


LifeAsIKnowIt March 19, 2008 at 12:28 pm

Oh, I miss those intense 20-something friendships sometimes…

Yes, I have 2 baskets of clean laundry upstairs right now.


doodaddy March 19, 2008 at 1:35 pm

I seem to have hit a nerve with those “clean laundry” baskets!


Dan March 19, 2008 at 2:36 pm

Once you get on top of your laundry can you come and do ours?


doodaddy March 19, 2008 at 3:36 pm

Nice. Can you pay travel?

And maybe a couple of West End shows?


David March 19, 2008 at 8:06 pm

Yes, yes and yes. I’ve had whole laundry baskets shoved sideways in closets. One door in our house is permanently closed. We call it the “yard sale” room, but it’s really the “where everything goes that no longer has a place because it’s been displaced by toys, laundry and dirty dishes,” a.k.a., all the stuff we once used until we had a baby.

I feel your pain, man. It doesn’t help that I’ve always loathed cleaning. Why clean if it just gets dirty again? Why make the bed? It’s an exercise in hamster wheeling.


The Other Dawn March 20, 2008 at 6:29 am

I also linger in a clean laundry limbo. (That sounded WAY cooler than it is.) I can usually force myself to fold it, but it languishes in hampers until everyone drives me bonkers by pulling their “favorite shirt” from the bottom of the hamper, messing everything else up.

I just tell myself that while it may not be neat, at least it’s clean.


doodaddy March 20, 2008 at 3:17 pm

That’s a good phrase. I was using that a lot today…


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