The Ideal Sunday

I arise in the wee hours of the morning, just as the sun peaks out and greets me. A sense of mild panic dawns upon me; but wait . . . it's Sunday. I go back to blissful sleep knowing all is well with the world, and wholly wake up about two hours later. It is sufficiently morning this time; right on the brink of afternoon. I am fully rested, I'm laying down recalling my suspenseful dream, and I'm thinking about breakfast.

Knowing me, the hours of the day shift by about +3 on Sundays; I do about everything 3 hours late. I play jazz music as I walk to my kitchen. After ditching the aesthetically-pleasing but gustatorily revolting traditional breakfast and making myself either Belgian waffles topped with white chocolate, brown sugar, and cinnamon or a chorizo-mozzarella toasty with dashes of balsamic glaze, I retire to my bedroom to binge watch TV episodes of whatever I happen to be engrossed into at the time.
 The day goes by smoothly, I eventually take a refreshing cold shower (spoiling myself with the bath products I can't stop purchasing), and by the time it's afternoon (adjusted to +3 timing; evening), I head out to meet a friend for coffee. We talk for hours -  giggling about ridiculous incidents that happened over the week. By this time, a bunch of other friends join us as we grab a bite, walking around the green-and-gray city and stopping by shops to buy clothes or groceries on the way.


The day ends with a movie. Either it's me watching it on my own at home, or with my friends at the local cinema. It's one of those films I just can't miss; be it from scratching one off my

list or catching the latest blockbuster. I conclude the day with reflecting and writing in my journal - I collect the thoughts that swirled around in my mind, and end with a note of positivity and gratitude.



And then I swear as I realise that tomorrow's Monday.