Journal Instead

I know a bunch of writers have expounded on the horrendousness of Sundays, but I need to throw in my two cents. They fucking suck.

It's a day off, but I'm antsy, angsty, and simply waiting for the week to begin. I just want to get it over with. An awful day that happens every week and happens the same every time.

But there is comfort even in this, because hey, at least I know it's coming. Just like I know that the confusion and disappointment I'm experiencing in my master's program is right on schedule. The classes are dull, some of the teachers are ridiculous, and I'm not learning what I wanted to learn. So now all I think about all day is music. I play piano again, am drawing up a technique schedule, saving money for an eventual piano, and practicing more at the music school now than I did when I was a student there.

It seems I am never happy whatever I am doing, and always enjoy the clandestine more.