Day 9

Day 9

Today is a Sunday. I dread Sundays.

I used to dread them when I was much younger, because of the hour or so I was forced to sit with a bunch of old people in a church. I have nothing against going to church nowadays, but it does take a lot of effort, and I don’t want to go just because I feel I have to remind everyone that I still read my Bible. I do, but no-one needs to know.

So it’s not church that has me fearing Sundays as much as footballers fear physical contact, it’s something else.

Historically, Sundays have been the days where our household switched off all our technology: the idea being that we appreciate nature. It f*****g sucked. All I ever ended up focusing on was the fact that the weekend is over and that five days of torture lay ahead. It’s not like we could go out on a Sunday, the next day was school, therefore Sunday became a day of boredom and depression, or “rest,” as my parents loved to point out.

Now things are different, but the scars remain, whenever I wake up on Sunday morning, usually with a bit of a headache, I know that today is the end of my fun, and not even the beginning of my struggles. I think I know why people go to church on Sundays, it’s something to do.

Yes, Sunday, in my opinion, is the worst day of the week. After all, on the seventh day, even the Lord was bored.