Beyond Sunday Blues

by caccy46

The heaviness of Sundays always weighted down my spirit, like the last day of a vacation, when reality was just a night's sleep away. A dark, sinking feeling in my gut - a faraway sadness, never identified, burdened my soul. It left me paralyzed on a sofa with a television blasting to drown out my thoughts. Background noise, lots of food, sleep and a feeling of dread knowing I had to ready myself for the mask I wore to get me through the week. Often the strain was too much, and I'd call in sick and hide some more. No one ever thought to guess I had secrets imprisoned behind my smiles.


caccy46, author of The Sentinel, is 60 years old, a mother of two, and has been married for 32 years.


Joe said...

What a magnificent narrative to describe those Sunday night blues when either you had school or work just over that dreaded albeit sunny horizon. I still dread it. Written from a unique perspective and wonderfully executed. Who likes Mondays, anyway?

Leatherdykeuk said...

I could hear this in Bogart's voice. Nicely done.

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austere said...

And I thought it was only me! You've caught it right on.

Ian said...

Well said. When I was young, I was aghast when 'happy' people I knew would snap, or worse. As I grew older, I found out why.