Oh, angel sent from up above
I feel it coursing through my blood,
Life is a drink, your love’s about
To make the stars come out…
I can see the sun outside, and even in the inside. Today I feel the sun inside and I’m filled by a whole new feeling of hope that covers up the sadness in my soul.
Have you ever thought about that feeling you get after a long and tiring run around the park, when you come back home with the awareness that a soothing and warm shower will help you to compensate the lack of strenght you’ve just gained. Today’s sun has the same effect to me.
The only substantial difference is that I wasn’t really conscious. I would never imagine that the sun would have lifted me up from the weight of my own weepings.
Mainly because it’s sunday.
Sunday’s always been the worst part of my weeks, even worse than mondays ordinary sadness. I don’t know what specifically makes it a bad day, but I’ve always hated sunday’s 24 hours. It feels like they’re useless, like unbearably empty.
Monday’s work time. Tuesday too, same as for wednesday and thursday. Friday’s for those girls night out spent at the bar, talking about other people’s shit. Saturday is for disco night and it is for those long and thrilling waits for the sunset to come out, and it is for those nostalgic goodbyes to another week gone by.
And then there’s Sunday.
Please tell me what’s the point with sunday ?
Sunday’s for those late wakes up, maybe under the undigested effect of some sort of an alcohol too much alcoholic. Maybe with a bulge on the feet for having walked too much. Having danced too much. Having jumped too much. Maybe with a heavy headache caused by last night fun. Maybe you just wake up useless, and nothing more.
People say that you usually have lunch later on sunday, but it actually didn’t happen to me lately. So, pretending that I would be eating later, all my routine would have been devastated : eating later means tiding up the kitchen later, it then means digesting later, then having a snack later, then having a shower later, going out later and coming back home later. And for sure going to bed even much later.
One and only one day that ruins an entire routine. And people say it’s monday’s fault.
I blame it on sunday, because I hate it. Deeply, unconditionally I hate it.
But today I don’t. Today’s sunday and I like it because I feel the sun from the inside. And because I feel motivated from an energy that pushes me to keep smiling without a proper motive. And because, even with the certainity that I will have a later lunch, I got the feeling that everything’s gonna me okay. Slowly, but it’s gonna be alright.
This is my first sunday alone and it looks like it is better than all those sundays spent in company. But I’m still uncapable to explain this feeling. I get that maybe the perception of my life’s change is taking a whole new turn, little more positive, little more gay. But I’m uncapable to explain why this loneliness is making me feel happy.
It’s made me feel so good that pushed my subconscious to change its idea about sunday.
Maybe the Hymn for the weekend lets me feel less distant, or less nostalgic. Maybe this spanish sun has such a powerful rigenerating energy. Maybe I’m just starting to surrender at the idea that it will go this way for a little bit.
Sunday’s such a good day, isn’t it ?