That Sunday Night Feeling

Sunday 23rd April

I do realise that by the time you read this it will be that Monday Morning Feeling, and in a way they are twins anyway.  The one preceeds the other and maybe each one cannot quite exist without its twin partner.  The thought that the weekend is over, yet again, and no matter how good it was, how much achieved, how successful, how tired one is, there is no denying the fact that tomorrow will be boring old Monday again, the beginning of the working week, the cranking up of the treadmill for another round of pointless plodding.  And in a reflective mood I begin to question my whole way of life, and the constant nagging question, “Am I really happy?”   “Well yes, in a way,” I have to answer, but then again comes the corollary, “but is this all there is?”  And yes in a way this is it, I mean, what did you expect?  And no matter I am sure if one is rich and living in Mayfair or stuck in a council flat, the question will still rise to the surface like some nagging little reminder of all the expired ambitions, the teenage fantasies, the what-if, and if-only, and especially what might have been if only ones life had taken a different direction.

So, Sunday Evening, a time for reflection and after the papers have been read and the news digested – boring as ever I am afraid, and the TV schedule refused – not another episode of Silent Witness, the book turned over on the sofa – which doesn’t appeal either, the few dishes from the solitary meal waiting to be washed up –  a reminder if ever there was one that Catherine is still on her own, I take off my glasses, rub my weary eyes, and start to write another days blog.  And when it is written I begin to feel a bit better.  The weekend was quite good all things considered and of course, before you know it, it will be Friday again and another one; no matter what you did with the last one there is always another to look forward to.  Bon Voyage.