Sunday, February 22, 2009
After a long, exhausting week, I tend to expect the most from the weekend, often to my own dissapointment. Sunday can feel so heavy, weighted as it is by its own finality, never free like Saturday, but instead existing like the letter "q," unable to free itself from the week ahead, its "u" the necessity of Monday. Today though, in the interest of dispelling such Sunday blues, we took a lot of walks, spent our little bits of change on useful things like vintage globes and white tulips with faint pink edges. We made more cookies and chicken potpie, drank coffee and watched a film. When I begin to buckle under the pressure of the week and the uncertainty of the future I'll remind myself of these small things and maybe too my mother's voice on the other end of the line, fine point pens that scratch the paper as I write, my husband's face when he gets home from work, the generous gift of a new album playing constantly in my ears, and the last words of a story I've been trying to finish reading all week: listen harder.