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Another pleasant plains Sunday, baby
By briantologist | July 20, 2003
I used to really hate Sunday afternoons. Or else I was spending them with friends who really hated them, and felt like I ought to hate them too, in the name of general supportiveness. I can’t really remember how I felt about them then, but man, I’m sure glad to have Sunday afternoons now. Not just because I generally need the time to reset my brain after the two preceding nights, but man, I just need the time to do nothing.
Stare into space for half an hour at a time. Randomly organize or delete computer files that aren’t that important to begin with. Play Tetris for hours. Read the first 3 paragraphs of the newspaper. Lie on the couch and listen to the cicadas buzz away at the heat, while I vegetate in deep air conditioning. Lie there for even longer when one of the cats goes to sleep on me. These, my friends, these are the good times.
Jimmy Jam has always hated Sunday afternoons and Sunday nights. I can’t completely recall his reasoning, but I think it mainly has to do with alienation and one’s utter eventual isolation in the universe. Which, y’know, I can relate to. But — and please know I’m not bragging here, or making some strange pitch for marriage — having my dear Darleece around blinds me to that loneliness. I mostly forget it’s there, and my memories of it are depressing and distant, and I’m in no hurry to relive them, and so why not enjoy blissful ignorance? I mean fuck, I spend enough time overwhelmed by the horrors of modern life around me; most of the time it’s like I’m in a sandpaper box that’s constantly growing smaller, and it’s hot and there are bees everywhere. A quiet house, utter freedom from obligation, extremely efficient air conditioning, and sleeping kitties are more than I ever thought I’d get out of life, and Sunday’s sure as shit the best time for me to enjoy them to their fullest.
So thanks, kitties. Thanks, Darleece. Thanks, people who do stuff with me on Sunday afternoons and evenings (Jimmy Jam, often, as I think he’s comforted by a little pissy company like me). Without you, it wouldn’t be half as sweet.
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