I don’t remember where I read this but it needs repeating. Even when I’m writing this on a Sunday evening slowly plodding towards a working Monday (after a long, long time. It’s been 3 months since I quit the job!), where the accompanying picture is of a Saturday afternoon:
Sundays are for Lovers:
There is a particular tenor to a Sunday. There’s laziness, cooking breakfast, comfy-clothes, time spent in bed, wandering the neighborhood, sitting in a café, house-work, yard-work, making out, art projects, meeting friends at the pub, a last chance to get shit done before the work-week begins and then of course the end of something … the beginning of something.