Cement Shoes

I hate Sunday nights. What is it about Sunday nights that is so depressing? I think Sunday might be my least favorite day of the week, and that owes nothing to Catholic guilt. No, Sundays are like the cement shoes that mob bosses have their lackeys put on you before they throw you into the sea. The sea (in this scenario, Mondays) is bad, but its the slow hardening process of the cement Sunday shoes that bring on the lingering dread, that hold you in the inescapeable bad place.

Waxing poetic, or something. But seriously, go with me here.

Mondays are no fun. Everyone knows this. But at least on a Monday you are up and moving, solving the problems, working through the crap parade. Sure it is annoying, sure you would rather have another Saturday, but you're crossing things off the list right and left. But not on Sunday night. Nope, Sunday night you have all the dread ahead of you, you know what you are in for, you can play and replay all the crappy scenarios that will unfold during the rest of the week, and you can't do a thing to begin getting through it. You have to just wait while the cement hardens.

Wow, I'm morbid. Maybe this is why my friends think I'm depressed. (I choose to believe I am not depressed, just old, and less enamoured with going out in a city I don't know to a place I've never been with people I have mostly never met, when the alternative is cooking dinner, reading on my couch in my pjs, skyping with my friends, and watching tv till I fall asleep... Wow, yeah, ok, I am really old)

Not just in Hell-err-Holland, but since college I have been waging war on Sunday nights. At the gym I worked the closing shift on Sundays and the opening shift on Mondays, so 8hrs of sleep was impossible, and the anticipation of having to get through another week of however many jobs I was working (usually like 3) what overwhelming. At Warwick Sundays could sometimes be a small panic, just looking ahead at all the readings due for that week and how on Earth were we supposed to fit them all in. And now here, I find myself with this fear of "Who will give me a snotty look for not being bilingual this week?" "Will my classmates stage an overthrow of the frequently frustrating class we have this week" "How frustrating will that class be if they don't overthrow it!?" "Will someone and I know my classmates here know who I mean say something vaiguely racist and against all the principles we value on our course?" "What if I didn't understand my teacher and am not prepared for my classes?" "How many times will the painfully slow internet at Warwick keep me from skyping with my boyfriend because his connection will be so bad?" And even the banal "What if I'm late for class?!" All these problems to irrationally fear, and no way to start attacking them.

Let's be honest here people. My week is going to rock. Solidly. I did a ton of homework this weekend, so I'm ready. The teacher, though perhaps not perfectly suited to every member of my class, is lovely and sweet (and went to my college!!!!! Well, that and several universities in Africa, but still! Another Terp!!!) and I love listening to her accent when she talks. Tomorrow I have normal class, then get to come right home, cook dinner, and do some reading. Tuesday is again normal class, and then MAIPR Pancake Day (we are celebrating a week early (Fat Tuesday or Shrove Tuesday or Mardi Gras or however your culture calls it) because the following Wednesday some of us have to give presentations and we have a full day of class, unlike this Wednesday) and MAIPR pancakes are AMAZING, as I learned during MAIPR December Birthday Extravaganza. Then Wednesday, as previously stated, we do not have normal class, but instead a short library introduction in the morning, and then an international student welcome drink event in the late afternoon. Aaaaaaand then Thursday I wake up before the sun to make my journey to Warwick, to see my boyfriend and lovely friends, attend a formal dance with the very handsome Mr Ian, maybe have a dance practice with said very handsome man, then go to a dance competition and tear it up for Warwick!

Ok, I think I just talked myself out of the morbid funk. Stupid Sunday nights. Who needs you?


I know who I'm not shouting out to. I think I will shout out to my cats. I miss them and had a nightmare about Bandit last night. My poor girl. I nearly drowned myself in tea today, probably because I wanted to keep using my cat mugs (yeah, for Christmas I got mugs with pictures of each of the cats on them. They are too adorable for words). I need to go back to the bagel place and hold that cat. At least I have my awesome travel buddy Radar here with me for company.

ps- spellcheck seems to not be working right now, nor do I seem able to copy this into a word doc to run spellcheck there, so sorry for anything wonky.