Sunday afternoons

I picked up my journal to write something earlier today, it turned out to be a poem called ‘Sunday afternoons’.
Here it goes.

The good old dread,
my good ol’ friend?
comes visits me Sunday afternoons
whispering in my ear
in its snake like voice.
What it says- “Your weekend is over, hisss.”
What I hear?
“Your life is over, your happy days are over.”

Sometimes it grips me,
And I can’t move
Sitting frozen on the couch
watching Youtube.

Other times I send it love
saying- “Thanks man, but I got this”
and get on with my (Sun)day.

One thing I now know is
it’s not so much the dread
of the coming week, or work
But more so- not spending this precious time
Doing things I wanted to do.

Things that connect me to the part of me
that knows this trickster party pooper mind
too bloody well
and knows how to tame it
so it doesn’t run the show.
Things like writing (this)
Things like cooking, cleaning, organizing
feeling in control?
Things like moving my body
and going for a walk or three
Things that make me feel ready
to start a brand new week.

Don’t you feel this dread too?
A little or a lot, I know that you do. 

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