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The Hell of Sunday I don't know what it is about Sunday. This Sunday, like most Sundays, passed without much event. We went to Kohl's to buy a gift for my brother and an electric blanket for the mother in our adopted family and a radio pen for my mom to give my stepfather, and they were offering $15 off any purchase of $75 so I decided I would buy myself the paraffin hand-and-foot bath that I've been wanting. Only we get up to the counter and the guy says oh no, we don't have that offer, even though I'd just seen it in the circular that morning but of course hadn't brought said circular with me. He asked some other guy and the other guy said the same thing so I didn't get the paraffin bath and we came home. To the circular. Which proved I was right. But I'm not going all the way back to Kohl's. After Kohl's we went to the going out of business sale at the local independently owned record shop where I bought many Christmas CDs at 50% the already low prices - Patti LaBelle and Nat King Cole and Fountains of Wayne (just two songs, but on a nifty clear CD) and the Jets, which I think is going to be hilarious. (You remember the Jets. there's just you...you must have been heaven sent...hearing me call you when out on a limb...and you're all that he's not...just look what I got...'cause you got it all over him - come on. How could I not buy it?) And then we went home where I did not work on my paper, which was to become a running theme over the weekend. I worked on it a little on Saturday, but certainly not enough to justify the cancelling of the planned shopping trip to New York, which was only cancelled because I had to work on this stupid paper. The problem with the paper I shall outline in another entry. Instead of working on my paper, Greg and I cleaned the house. Mostly. See, we're having it cleaned tomorrow, so it needed to be cleaned. (I know.) His parents are coming for Christmas again and we are just out of time in December to clean it thoroughly - this house will be a good size with kids but right now it is really too much house for two busy people. (Unfortunately the only day the cleaners could come was tomorrow, a full two weeks before his parents arrive. Do you know how much damage we can do to our house in two weeks?) So we picked up all the crap off the floor so the floors can be swept and mopped and vacuumed and excavated and such, and that took a long time. Suddenly, it was dinnertime. We warmed up leftover tacos from the night before and watched some Angel season two. Afterwards I prepared a chicken dish to cook in the crockpot for today and then we watched Alias, and then another Angel. Suddenly it was eleven and I have to get up for work at 7:30 and I was not even remotely tired. This happens almost every Sunday. Every Sunday I overtire myself and then stimulate my brain too much at the end of the night so I can't sleep, or I start doing computer stuff late (last night I was looking up books in the library catalog so I could get them for my paper research today) or a combination of both, and then I can't sleep and I can't sleep and I can't sleep and when I finally get into bed to wind down it's midnight and by the time I feel I can turn off the light it's one and after I toss and turn like last night it's after two the last time I remember looking at the clock. And then it is 7:30 and I am awake. Sundays suck. |
