sundays

when i was an elementary schooler, i got into an argument with my younger self’s dearest friend.

the topic?

what is the first day of the week.

her argument was monday, because sunday is part of the weekEnd. my argument was sunday, because it’s the first column on a calendar… for someone so seemingly oblivious, i’ve always really known how to point out the obvious.

within the past year, my dearest shared with me the idea of the weekend as it relates to bookends. which… makes a lot more sense.

the intention of this blog post is no intention. there’s no underlying message or some feeling i desire to induce. i simply want to express my love for sundays.

they’ve meant so many things to me throughout my lifetime. as a kid, it meant waking up and going to church. from the time beginning in the room painted of clouds with written stickers and diaper bags, moving all of the way upstairs with distant unfamiliarity and computer systems. my preteened years meant helping my mom about and doing homework at the last minute. teenaged, a combination of the two; with a new church, new faces, and a new understanding. collegehood brought about hungover mornings with pots of black coffee, squinting at computer screens. the one consistency,

my love for sundays.

i Love sundays.

what is it about this idea of sundays? that incites such intense feelings. i mean, it’s just a day of the week. and yet, it inspired etta james’ “a sunday kind of love”- one of my top five songs of all time- containing the purest and among the most beautiful desires of a love. chance and jamila woods singing “sunday candy,” carrying such power and bringing the biggest of smiles to every listener. the commodore’s “easy” (easily top twenty), transporting us to a mental map lined with palm trees driving down an empty road, hand out the window moving with the wind. or maroon 5’s “sunday morning,” laying in bed with a lover as the sun pours onto you and dancing together among the lines of the blinds.

it’s just- it’s so full of peace. so full of brightness. content. gratitude. promise. each new sunday is accompanied by a new week. this idea of newness can incite bursts of motivation and a rugged eagerness for all that can come in the week to follow.

though, i’ve also found that sundays… they can be full of somber melancholy as well.

the weekend one spends every waking weekday looking towards, coming to a close; the dreariness lurks in the shadows of the next morn. there’s so much to do today to prepare.

grocery shopping,

laundry,

meal prepping,

homework.

lists are made, reality is faced.

it’s so full of despair.

it’s sundays.

the only word i can think to describe it is, full. it feels so full. I always feel so full.

this past sunday,

i found myself full of emotion.

the sky and the earth, full of water.

a torrential downpour from above that i don’t recall as badly occurring in months robbed me of my morning park plans.

the cocktail of my emotions and the weather created the perfect setting for a listening of my playlist “the pacific northwest.” as hozier’s “cherry wine” played, i opened my blinds, put on my activity overalls, and set my astronaut lamp to the warmest of shades. i then just

began painting.

i’ve really never been one for painting- mainly because i am terrible at it. but there was just something about it. i was gravitated towards the act.

so, i picked up a paintbrush and began

shades of blue

and clouds of white

i had an idea for what i wanted it to be, it to reflect. how i wanted to feel as i did it. but no plan for execution. so i simply began/ 

as the canvas became full, i became content.

at peace.

amidst clarity.

perhaps i do recognize the catharsis of painting, i thought

as i was awaiting for layers to dry, i’d move between other projects.

hemming my daywear overalls.

crocheting a top.

knitting what is now a giant rectangle (later to become something unknown).

folding laundry.

cleaning about my room.

despite how excited my movement between projects appears, it was in the most graceful way. as if i were and time were for once not at odds and moving at the same gently flowing pace.

i simply love sundays. they are to weeks as mornings are to days. i love them