Nothing can go wrong on Sundays

Except when you’re nursing hangovers or people in your house suffering from it. But I’m always looking forward to Sunday. It’s like waiting for the Ice Cream Man. Metaphor FAIL.

Weekends are special when you’re a kid (especially if you’re a catholic). I don’t know if it’s just my family but after hearing mass (like around 10 or 12 nn), we always go to the mall, do the grocery, eat outside and be a FAMILY. On sunday nights,Dad would play his vinyls at home while Mom will smoke outside the garage. Later, Dad joins her, hands her a Cali shandy or San Mig light and they’d be talking all night long. Meantime, I will lock myself in their room watching HBO until finally they’d shoo me away - ask me to go to my room because you know, I’ll get in the way of their attempt to bring a sibling into existence…. Perfect!

That was probably some 10 years ago, when I was still living like a good catholic school girl.

Now, Sundays are grudge-free, sloth-filled days. It’s when you just want to sleep all day. Doing nothing has never been this fulfilling. NOTHING - as in just lie there, stare at the ceiling. NOTHING - like listening to old cds and momentarily doze off  by the end of the first track.

Nothing is ignoring a text from a relative asking you to travel to the far North or South. Ingrate, that I am. I’m sorry. I just feel so lazy that if I stay to 5 more minutes in the couch, I’d camouflage and be its appendage. 

Nothing is not minding that your eye make-up from last night’s gig makes you look like a racoon. 

Nothing is saying the rosary when you’re about to fall asleep again because you failed to hear mass for the NTH time.

Nothing makes perfect sense on Sundays. God is a genius. 7th day, he sat there saying, “Shit, I’m done. Bring out that whore, Eve. No, we’re not doing nothing.’”