It’s a strange feeling that has taken over me as I sit and look out my window. 

I watch in a trance as the neighbour over the fence mows their lawn. I’m not at all interested, but my eyes have welded to the spot while I contemplate this strange sensation.

It’s almost like I’m a blank canvas, with a hollowness in my extremely full stomach. 

I’ve eaten badly this weekend, and while I’m paying for it, I’m confused as to why it happened in the first place. 

I wasn’t particularly craving anything, but like the soldier Tarrare, there was a hunger for something that couldn’t be filled.

I cleaned, and cooked, and folded, and played all day, and existed in a state of calm until the children went to bed. 

Abruptly, the notion I could do this all the time replaced my perpetual motion machine, 

stopping it like a hammer to the face.

Ah, there it is. The thing lingering with such a rapacious appetite is the dreaded Sunday night blues. 

I don’t want to go to work in the morning. 

I want to stay home, and have my life be smooth, and off the clock. Free to get up when I want, read a book, watch tv, snuggle my little loves.

It’s a crazy thing to even dream, but there it is. I wish it was a simpler time. I know someday I’ll look back and realize it’s always been exactly what I made of it, 

But as Sunday evening falls, I try to hold on to the weekend just a little longer, and tell Monday 

not yet