Sundays
Sundays are made for playing music, burning incense and cleaning your house. Relaxing after a full morning with your sister, you smile repeatedly thinking about all the things that make your life good right now. You are thankful, and you return this gift to the universe by reflecting as much love as possible to as many people as possible; it’s a contagious thing.
You remember that life is precious, and each day is a renewable gift; you vow to use them in a manner befitting their value - infinite.
As “Oh I Think They Like Me” plays on your Pandora station, you find yourself doing a ditty bop as you move about the living room picking up all the things that remind you of this life you’ve built for yourself - library books, textbooks, notebooks, and skein after skein of yarn. You are grateful for the mess to clean and the space within the mess resides; you are happy that you have the mobility and agility to do the ditty bop.
You sip your third cup of coffee of the day, and you are thankful for that too; it is, after all, your drug of choice.
You remember that each of these things, these tiny little moments and secret spurts of joy are possible because you are possible. You remember this and you smile again.
You look forward to tomorrow. Monday - Your longest school day of the week, with classes until the afternoon and then more at night. You are grateful that you have the opportunity to do it all over again, and you smile again because you remember that you are doing it on your terms this time.
Lil Wayne comes on, and as you bop your head, typing on the wireless keyboard to your laptop, you remember that writing is a gift too, and you promise not to squander it.
You are thankful for the friends you have; they continuously inspire you and bolster you, moving you on to bigger and greater things.
All of this, of course, appreciated in the moments you have to yourself on a Sunday afternoon. Beautiful, sunny, music-filled and happy.
Sundays were made for this.
