I am allergic to Sunday.
It doesn’t really matter what I do with my day, what I eat, what I did on Saturday, ultimately Sunday makes me feel like some combination of barfing, sleeping and hanging out on the floor in child’s pose because if my head goes above knee height bad things might happen.
Bad things like barfing on the cats. They so don’t appreciate that. So ungrateful.
Maybe it is the impending doom of work which wouldn’t be so bad if it didn’t start at 7:30 a.m. and necessitate my alarm going off at 5:30 a.m.
Because I’ve spent most of the day ingesting my own sinus drainage, I really haven’t accomplished much besides staring and thinking that I should eat something so that I don’t feel so gross but the idea of eating anything makes me want to vomit.