as I do, I am currently tossing and turning, experiencing the bittersweet “sunday scaries.” it’s somewhat cruel that we consider what should be a rejuvenating day as something so terrifying. sunday’s are for doing that pile of laundry from last weeks shenangins, hoping to finally get out that pesky beer stain from your favorite pair of jeans (hint: it won’t come out). sunday’s are for buying that bouquet of flowers you’ve been eyeing on the corner of 12th and 3rd (it would be perfect for my windowsill). sunday’s are for finally attempting to get in my 10,000 steps (still don’t know how people do that.)
instead, I spent today worrying about the week ahead. why? most weeks are the same. I get up, I get dressed, go to work, sit at work, come home, relax, and repeat. what’s so scary about that? nothing.
the mundane shouldn’t be a scary thing. getting stuck in the mundane is what’s scary. and as I’ve gotten older I’ve learned to feel lucky that I experience boredom and repetitiveness. it is a privilege that we take for granted.
I do stand by saying sunday scaries are bittersweet. bitter as in, nobody wants to go into an office on a monday morning, but we do it because we want to experience the fun in mundane (pretend there’s an f in there somewhere). that’s where the sweet comes in. it’s sweet because tomorrow I’ll go get a matcha latte from joe and the juice, my favorite tradition, and the cashier will know my name and order. it’s sweet because I am able to live out my dreams of living in new york city. and it’s sweet because it has to be.
I spent the last few hours of tonight tossing and turning, as I’m sure the people I share a wall with are doing the same. but before that I was on my couch, with my roommate Jamie, watching “good american family” and eating salt and vinegar chips.
there will always be good in the mundane and the not so good in the mundane. there will always be the jitters before another week of work. but there will also always be laughter at the end of a long day, or a run on the east river to calm my mind, or even just a tiktok scroll where I find my favorite song for the week.
it’s all what you make of it. take this with a grain of salt (and vinegar).
Witching Hours 