Sunday, January 18

Every Day Is Like

Days like this remind me of Rochester so much: numb fingers and toes; snow squeaking underfoot; dull, gray light; and that sinking Sunday feeling.

I remember Sundays as the time for desperately running around campus, chasing the weak light, trying to take three rolls of film for Monday morning's photo class. I usually put off the assignments every week because it was always so cold outside- maybe tomorrow will be warmer, I'd think to myself. It never was.

I've learned a little bit since I was 17, though. I can see the beauty in these days now, even if I still taste that Sunday feeling.


avra romanowitz said...

i always call it the "sunday night blues."

ana dane said...

it starts happening to me well before sundown, though. but it definitely gets worse by the time night rolls around, and you don't even have any cashew chicken to look forward to.