When I was little, Sundays were my least favorite days. Not only because of Sunday School, but because, I think, it always felt like an ending. Saturday, you were in it. But, Sunday, even though it was 40% of the weekend (including Friday night), felt doomed. The steady advance of the clock swallowing up any remaining freedom. I wasted a lot of it, I’m sure, mourning for it’s inevitable departure.
I had a physiological and emotional reaction to Sunday. I named it – in true writer fashion – when I was about 7 years old. I know that my mom (who reads this blog) won’t remember this, but I do. I was trying to tell her how I felt, because it was so, well, sad and intense. My interpretation was that I had my ‘Sunday Feeling’. Eventually, this became the term that I used to describe that particular brand of sadness whenever it happened – Sunday or not. Clinically, I think it would be identified as depression. The Sunday Feeling feels bottomless and lost, a little bit scared and incredibly still. And it still creeps up on me every now and then.
See how I’m a classically tortured artist?
I like to name things, always have. Like the time I told my 1st grade teacher, Miss Carragher, that I was carsick. She told me I couldn’t be carsick sitting at my desk – but it was the only reference I had for nausea at that point, being in the car. It made perfect sense to me. That woman never understood me.
But, Friday, glorious Friday. It held so much possibility, you know? It was the day you spent planning and dreaming up the weekend, the expanse of the two days to come spread out hugely in front of you. And, just like the Sunday Feeling, the Friday Feeling also and quickly became unattached to the actual day.
The Friday Feeling happened on the last day of school, and on the first. The Friday Feeling happens at the beginning of a relationship. The Friday Feeling happens when you get a call about a great project. The Friday Feeling happens when you can’t stop writing and everything just works. The Friday Feeling feels topless (as in the opposite of bottomless, not as in shirtless – though sometimes that could apply), full, purposeful, gleeful. The Friday Feeling has butterflies attached – they fly around in your gut, your chest, your throat.
To me, the butterflies are the drive behind the Friday Feeling. Their movement, after all, is the surest sign that you’re leaving the despair-filled stillness behind.
Image credit: Laura Burlton