Sunday Is Evil

There are those who often wax poetic about the comforting easiness of Sundays. There are songs about it, poems about it, and I’m sure even a book or two about it (aside from The Bible, which clearly doesn’t emphasize the carefree fun often associated with this seventh day). And while there are those who aim to market Sunday as the cherry on top of a week-long cake, I’m not falling victim to the calendar’s clever PR team. I’m aware of how mediocre, even depressing this day is, and I can’t recall one in recent memory that wasn’t at least somewhat marred by its unfortunate position between the Day of Drinking and The First Day of Work.

First things first, how many Sundays are spent hungover? And I’m talking about the kind that, when you wake up, immediately makes you question whether or not you actually died the night before of alcohol poisoning and are in some kind of purgatory, cleansing yourself with pain before you can join the Land of the Dead. These are the states of mind we often find ourselves on Sunday mornings, and there is no buffer day between us and the work week — we are going to have to spend the entire day recovering and eating Hot Fries just to get back to a semi-functional state for the drudgery ahead. It’s not like Saturday, where if you wake up and feel kind of iffy, you can recover over the day and still enjoy a fruitful weekend evening. If you are responsible enough with your Saturday evening after you come back to full life, you can even enjoy a fulfilling brunch the next day with all of your senses intact and your wits about you.

And speaking of which, I don’t know who decided that brunch was any kind of cure for a real hangover. Sure, if someone brings you eggs and a cup of coffee while you lay, completely infirm, under a blanket — it might be okay. But actually having to go out into society and deal with an overcrowded, criminally overpriced, and unforgivingly loud restaurant at 11:30 with seven other people who apparently have livers made of solid steel and feel no after effects of last night’s debauchery is a challenge, to say the least. I cannot be the only person who has spent an entire brunch, at the corner of the table, sunglasses on the entire time, occasionally nodding generally towards the conversation and looking up only to ask for a refill of coffee, and if the waitress could be so merciful, a couple Tylenol with codeine.

But let’s say we actually managed to take care of ourselves on Saturday, and were able to enjoy our Sunday breakfast, and maybe even go out and about and do things — the enjoyment will never be pure, as you’ll always know, in the back of your mind, that tomorrow is going to suck. You might want to go join your friends for dinner (hey, you’re all puttering around the city anyway) but you’d better not have too much fun. Keep in mind that for every minute of actual fun you have on Sunday evening/night, you shall pay threefold on Monday morning. The only real, proper way to spend Sunday afternoons is to sit somewhere near the window while it rains (it always rains on Sunday afternoons, in this world) with a tea or hot chocolate and an awesome book/BBC series marathon. Any other way is just too much stimulation, and will cost you dearly come the work week.

I guess what I’m saying here is f-ck Sunday. I am done having a second weekend day that I can never fully enjoy, one that serves as nothing more than a paper-thin buffer between Saturday and real life. I insist that, from now on, all weekends be three days long, so we can just reserve all our day hatred for Monday and Monday alone. It’s ugly and thinks it’s cute, and we never liked it anyway. TC mark

image – Doug

Chelsea Fagan

Chelsea Fagan founded the blog The Financial Diet. She is on Twitter.

Trace the scars life has left you. It will remind you that at one point, you fought for something. You believed.

“You are the only person who gets to decide if you are happy or not—do not put your happiness into the hands of other people. Do not make it contingent on their acceptance of you or their feelings for you. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter if someone dislikes you or if someone doesn’t want to be with you. All that matters is that you are happy with the person you are becoming. All that matters is that you like yourself, that you are proud of what you are putting out into the world. You are in charge of your joy, of your worth. You get to be your own validation. Please don’t ever forget that.” — Bianca Sparacino

Excerpted from The Strength In Our Scars by Bianca Sparacino.

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  • Meg

    I love Sunday. Know why? Because you don’t HAVE to go out on Saturday and get so totally inebriated that you are hungover to the point where it makes you actually loathe a day of the week. Try a little bit of moderation, it’s good for you. Plus, even if you are hungover on Sunday, you have the option to day drink. It’ll get rid of your hangover pretty quick, and you can be in bed by 8PM, and ready for work the next morning. And yeah, Mondays do suck…but they happen once a week, just like Sunday. It’s just part of being a big kid.

    • carmon

      I agree. There are so many fun things you can do on a weekend that dont involve spending hours and hours feeling like youve been hit by a truck. Do something fun and productive that you wont regret on saturday and your sunday will become a million times better, dont blame sunday for your bad decisions

  • http://twitter.com/paralityk Greg Utmańczyk (@paralityk)

    How come this “catalog” be so good that I read it whenever something new gets published?

  • Björn

    How come so many people aren’t able to control themselves? I understand that alcohol is fun, but the entire purpose is wasted when you drink until you drop. Show some moderation, and you won’t have to spend your Sunday fighting your hangover.

    • Cassandra

      I agree!

  • Guest

    I don’t even drink, yet Sundays are still terrible. They go by too fast and too slow at the same time. It’s awkward, because you’re trying to relax, but you’re too busy dreading Monday to fully enjoy yourself. Or not. Maybe I’m weird.

    • http://gravatar.com/scjournalist scjournalist

      I know EXACTLY what you mean! maybe we are both weird

  • Eloise

    “There are those who often wax poetic about the comforting easiness of Sundays.”
    Yea Chelsea, one of ‘those’ being you…..

    “That time is the most lovely time we can spend, hands down.”
    From your ‘What Sunday Is For’ article (which I loved by the way). And also, “I guess what I’m saying here is f-ck Sunday.”? Make up your mind dearie…

  • Cassandra

    Maybe Sunday will forever be the “remedy day” for those that party a little too hard the night before. Not necessarily a bad thing though, it’s better than going to work on Monday with a hangover. :P

  • http://www.facebook.com/michellerows Michelle Garcia

    I enjoyed this article a lot. I don’t enjoy people giving you life advice and telling you to consume your alcohol in moderation and partake in “fun and productive” events. Whether or not this article is an accurate statement of your true life, who the f*ck cares. You do what you want. We have our 70’s to stay sober all weekend.

    • Meg

      Wasn’t even talking about NOT drinking, I go out almost every weekend. I get that being hungover sucks, it’s just what happens when you go out. Just another fact of life, man. It’s just like, I already read plenty of everyone’s “Ughhhh so hungover!” statuses of Facebook…don’t expect that I am going to be regaled by some chick’s in-depth article about being hungover on Sundays. And, honestly, I hope I’m still getting crunk when i’m 70 too.

  • sophie

    you have an incredibly narrow definition of “actual fun.”

  • http://properblog.tumblr.com Jennifer

    Here, here. Sundays suck.

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