Sundays are the new Saturdays, i feel.
Saturdays were the cool kids in college that had interesting tattoos, used a typewriter, smoked cloves and went to strange parties in the middle of nowhere where you had to bring your own mason jar to drink your theology-class-friend’s homemade beer around a bonfire while Sunday was always cramming for finals (2 weeks away) and didn’t know how to talk to girls.
While Saturdays are awesome, carefree and a total vacuum of a day i think Sundays have suddenly emerged as the hot guy at the coffee shop reading chican@ literature and sipping a fair trade americano.
Sundays make you get up early, take stock of the day, enjoy the morning before starting the order of things that make Monday a little easier on the eyes. Sundays force you to enjoy every second of them like you’ve just tasted the most delicious thing ever and to eat it quickly would be a crime against humanity. Sundays are like best friends, they let you got at your own pace but hold you accountable when you’re being a total turd of a human being. Sundays are the best.
I’m spending mine reading Mindy Kaling’s book Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? and loving it in a caftan (see: anthropologie-obsessed. (yes, i own a caftan. It is gorgeous. Deal with it.)) drinking my french press coffee and enjoying my view of the lake.
For being broke a lot, i live pretty well. I credit Sundays, hugs, exercise and flying by the seat of my pants for my successes. Cheers.