I’ve always found Sundays a bit of a drag. If you’re familiar with the realm of science fiction, you might recall Douglas Adams’ poignant tale of an immortal being who feels the weight of his endless existence most acutely on Sundays. It’s during this time that the futility of life crashes down, leading to what Adams describes as “the long, dark teatime of the soul.” It’s a phrase that needs no elaboration; that sinking feeling we all recognize settles in on a Sunday afternoon as chores pile up and even snacks feel like a chore.
Growing Up in the Gloom of Sundays
As a kid in the UK, Sundays felt like a marathon of monotony. The concept of a day of rest comes from Genesis, where God, after creating the universe in six days, decides to kick back on the seventh. But if He’s omnipotent, why six days? And why take a day off when time didn’t even exist yet? Because of this biblical decree, shops were closed, leaving us with few options.
Devoid of consumer distractions, we turned to our television sets. Back in my day, we had only four channels—yes, you read that right! Four! So unless you wanted to stare at a wall, you had to watch whatever was on. Unfortunately, Sunday TV programming was notoriously bleak. You might find a show about antiques—yawn!—or yet another installment of a never-ending drama about the English Civil War. Then there was the infamous quiz show, Mastermind, where pale contestants answered questions about the history of cutlery. And let’s not forget the horror of Last of the Summer Wine, a so-called comedy about three old guys wandering around Yorkshire, occasionally crashing homemade contraptions into trees while canned laughter echoed. At that point, I’d retreat to bed, feeling utterly defeated.
The Adult Sunday Dilemma
I thought adulthood would change my Sundays, but I was sorely mistaken. More channels, Sunday trading, and a slew of modern diversions haven’t diminished Sunday’s existential dread; if anything, they’ve amplified it. Picture this: you’re trundling through a farmer’s market, buying artisanal cheese, or standing in line at a garden center clutching a plastic pond liner. Buying a hole in the ground? Talk about bleak!
So, what makes Sundays so dreary? After experiencing countless Sundays, I’ve come to a startling revelation: Sunday is a day of freedom. It’s the one day we can do whatever we want—no obligations. And therein lies the conundrum. Sunday acts as a mirror, reflecting the question we typically avoid: “What do I really want to do?”
With no work pressures or distractions, it forces us to confront the bigger existential queries: “Who am I?”
Let’s face it; we shy away from these tough questions. Weekdays provide easy answers; we can busy ourselves with work and obligations, sidestepping our true selves. But come Sunday, when the time stretches endlessly before us, we must grapple with our desires and goals, or risk succumbing to the void of boredom.
Ultimately, we dread Sundays because they tempt us to live more fully. They challenge us to be adventurous, to write that novel or learn to play the saxophone. Instead, we often settle for mundane tasks—like digging a hole for a plastic pond liner—while ignoring the deeper calls of our existence.
Thanks, but no thanks, Sunday. I have to go now—time to wrestle with my emotions while I prepare for this pond project.
Summary
Sundays can be a challenging day, often filled with existential questions that we usually avoid. Growing up in the UK, Sundays were a tedious affair with limited entertainment options, while adulthood hasn’t changed the inherent dread that comes with this day of freedom. It forces us to reflect on our true desires and identities, prompting feelings of discomfort. Ultimately, we find ourselves retreating into mundane tasks instead of embracing the opportunities for growth and exploration that Sundays offer.
For more insights on home insemination, check out this informative post or learn more about the Cryobaby Home Intracervical Insemination Syringe Kit for your journey. Also, if you’re looking for resources on pregnancy, the Fertility Center at Johns Hopkins is an excellent place to start.