If everyday were like Sunday, I would be highly reclusive, well rested, perpetually clean, lethargic, have no social skills, and have a freakishly organized house. I passed up a day in the world and two attractive get-togethers to hang up my freshly washed clothes, read books, and arrange my newest CD in front of Swades, Strings, and Sting. A gloomy cloud passed over at some time that I didn't note, I ate one meal and a string of haphazard snacks, and I let that Fuzon CD play on repeat at least twice. I'd like another Sunday tomorrow, but more than that would probably be a bad idea.
Besides, I've got to pay the rent today as I'm two days overdue. Shucks!