Worst time of the week

There are a terrible couple of hours on a Sunday, every Sunday, where life looks back at you and tells you you're crap. At least it does over here. We're just about through the worst of it, but the tail end normally takes a little longer to fuck off. All you can do is sit tight and wait for it to pass. Rely on past experience. Don't expect any progress ahead of time. The fog will clear soon enough.

The Sunday paper helps a little, or at least looking at the pictures does. Then, feeling on top of world events you drink coffee until you feel sick. Sunburn in the garden, a walk to the shop. The middle class things that you do to convince yourself your place is safe. But then the terrible hours come and prod you in the ribs, knocking you off your perch. 'Holy fuck', you think. Some poor bastards think Monday is bad.

It's the same every week, and when evening begins and things seem better. No need for alarm, at least not until next week.