I used to hate Sundays

Well, it's Sunday. I heard from the people I wanted to hear from today. All seems to be going pretty well for everyone. I used to hate Sundays though. I remember when I was younger, I would spend every other weekend with my Dad. I had to be home by 8PM. I always had such a great time whenever I stayed at his house. It was like I was part of a whole other life. When I ended up back at my Mom's house, I was just me again. Boring, misunderstood, too smart for my own good, and really weird me - and that sucked.

All the good television I wanted to watch came on when I was in transit from his house to hers - so I never got to see a whole episode of anything decent until I moved in with Dad in the mid 1980's. I didn't fit in well at school. I didn't play sports. I tried tennis in 8th grade, but I was awful because I just didn't know how to play. I guess I'm saying that Sunday was the beginning of the anxiety that Monday brought along.

Since October though, it seems like Monday is not to bad after all. If there is one thing I can say about Monday it is this. When Tuesday comes along, I will still be right here. Stress and anxiety flow and ebb. My worries come and go and come back again. At least here, I was meant to be exactly who I am.

Besides, 'Are You Being Served?' comes on Sunday at 11:59PM. The first thing every Monday sees now is my favorite show about a misunderstood but really funny ambiguously-gay character named Mr. Humphries. Sounds familiar...