Sunday Madness

Do you ever feel like there’s something missing? Something you can’t quite put your finger on but you know that it’s somewhere out there. You’re absolutely certain that it’s just one small life choice away. Sometimes you think you’ve found it. When you change your job, for instance. Or it might just be a person you met. A friend, maybe even more than a friend. For the glimpse of a second you feel happy and at peace. You think that you’ve finally turned your life around and that everything’s going to be better from now on. But then, as unexpectedly as that happiness showed up in your life, it’s suddenly gone. Everything’s back to normal. Once again you’re lost in the grim, dreary reality you’ve never quite been able to make peace with. The days seem to be passing you without any noticeable improvements or impact. You spend your Sundays in front of the screen of your MacBook, binging Friends for the fourth time in a year. There are empty bottles and chips bags next to your bed, the sheets of which you haven’t changed in a month. There’s dust everywhere, cookie and bread crumbs are spread out across your bedroom floor, the Guns’N’Roses poster on your wall is on the brink of falling down because you are too lazy to reattach the top left corner. The acoustic guitar you never use is out of tune beyond repair and for some reason that spider you killed a week ago is still laying on the window sill. Then nighttime comes rolling round the corner, you brush your teeth, jerk off to badly acted step-sister porn and contemplate your own miserable sex-life. Oh no, don’t open that door, you think to yourself, but it’s too late. You’re spiraling, drowning in self-pity again. The unrewarding climax comes with the thought of better days. Then everything’s quiet. You turn off your laptop, hit shuffle on the playlist you’ve been listening to for about five years now and try to sleep. But sleep won’t come. It never does on Sundays because you were up till 4am yesterday, watching the original Spider Man trilogy. Your biological clock is broken. You’ve turned night into day and day into night. So there you are, wide awake, listening to Passenger’s Catch in the Dark, attempting to figure out why your life has to be such a drag. And the answer’s always the same: it doesn’t have to be, it just is. Now accept the fact that you’re bound to wasting away in your miserable, worthless existence. Empty the glass. Forget for a while. And then do it all over tomorrow.

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