Sunday - A Toast to the Best Day of the Week

There is just something relaxing about Sundays. And it's not simply because it's the weekend and it's been ingrained in our heads to feel more relaxed on weekends, even if it's not the part of the week that we get off from work. Saturday is the weekend too, but it doesn't feel like Sundays, does it? No, Sunday's are special. They are slow and sweet and lazy. You can wear sweatpants or even pajamas all day and people won't judge you too harshly, because it's Sunday. You can eat a lot and go for long walks, and feel as if it's just the perfect day for it. No matter the weather, or the season. I love Sunday.

So it's a pretty early start for me today. I still haven't rectified all my fines in order to get my driver's license back, but I still need to drive to the clinic everyday. Most days Mike drives me which I really appreciate because he hates to do it. But I really like to take that morning drive alone. It gives me time to wake up and think without having to deal with anyone else's crap. I like to get up early when no one else is up and the house is quiet. I feed the dogs, let them out and build a fire. I usually clean up the kitchen from the night before so that when I get home and everyone's milling about I don't have to clean with them crawling all around me like ants. So even though I shouldn't have, I drove myself this morning and took a chance. When I can drive my Mom's car nobody even looks twice at me unless I'm speeding. She has a nice, new, silver Volvo and I love driving it. It's smooth and has a loud sound system. There's not too many things I like more than a Sunday morning, in a nice car with the music blasting. I'm one of those people who dance in the driver's seat. I smack my hand to the beat on the steering wheel. I have to use cruise control or else I'll be driving along singing my head off, pounding my fist in the air and then look down and realize I'm going ninety. Yikes!

But I made it to the clinic and back, no problems. Thank you God, for watching over me, like, all the time, even when I don't deserve it. And I've said hello to my dogs, put the groceries away, tidied up and it's only nine-thirty. I still need to eat something. I'm the only one in my family, besides Mike, who eats breakfast. In fact, they hardly eat anything decent before three or four in the afternoon. And then they wonder why they are emotionally unbalanced. If I don't eat healthy, filling meals at least twice a day, with snacks in between, I want to murder anyone who looks at me sideways. I don't know why they do it to themselves. I believe it's pure laziness. Because if I make food they want to eat mine. Especially my Mother, she's the worst when it comes to stealing food off your plate. I hate that!

Anyway, just wanted to throw some blah, blahing out there. A toast to the best day of the week.