i do get sunday sickness, not because i dislike sundays but rather because there is a speeding up of time that happens without fanfare and certainly without warning…starting right after brunchtime, the winding down of early afternoon as it slickly slips into early evening, where you are still left thinking to yourself, whispering to no one in particular, “it is early yet, it is still early, there is still time,” and even as these assurances are floating around, it becomes clear that the sun has deftly (a bit sneakily) tucked itself in and that one must begin thinking analytically, as one does during the week, of bedtime, of what must be done before the alarm is set and the pillows are turned to the cool side, which is quite a bit more bitter than sweet, because during the week, the setting sun does not carry much weight; it signals merely the passing of another daytime into the realm of what-to-do-tomorrow, whereas sunday sunsets, especially during the summer months, they are poignant things that signal life will be different for the upcoming days, life will be programmed, and we cannot dally the way we have been accustomed to, no, that joy must be tucked away for a little while, which wouldn’t be so hard if the weekends — and sundays especially — weren’t so fleeting and if we could just forget that with each subsequent sunday sunset, summer is whittled down, accelerating with each passing week until it’s a patchwork conglomeration of sweat-saturated memories, which is why i often find myself sickened by sunday nights, lonely for a season that has not yet even passed.