I used to love Sundays till he started writing a column in my favourite newspaper, The Post. Part of my Sunday routine was to wake up way past breakfast time and stay in my pyjamas till post lunch. A major part of my day would be consumed in binge eating unhealthy food like macaroni and cheese and reading The Post. They had a wonderful long-form features booklet on Sundays. Until, he began to write of course. It was not so much him as his twisted, dirty, manipulative politics that angered me. The sight of his smiling face in the author photo made me grit my teeth.
I missed the old soothing reaction I had to the paper and Sundays on the whole. Now I’m too ticked off to focus on the other parts of the day that made me happy. I have a hard job and Sundays were my guilty pleasure. Overeating, oversleeping, reading too much were the signature parts of it. Now it demanded of me to take deep breaths and rip the supplement to shreds as soon as it arrived. It required too much strength to read the negativity and then detach from it. That was for the rest of the week. Sundays were for bad habits.
After two Sundays of ripping the paper to shreds, I went back finding a new routine. My first plan was to take salsa lessons. I had always wanted to and felt too under confident of my plump body type. But I forced those thoughts away and found a studio close to my house. This Sunday I would do a trial run. The class was at 4pm which allowed ample amounts of pyjama lingering. I was excited to start something new.
Two hours later, the excitement had to be resuscitated. This was not my idea of a salsa class or a Sunday evening. I never went back.
I succumbed to my old Sunday routine of reading The Post. With a small change. I spent a good 20 minutes doodling on Mr. I-know-it-all’s face. Sundays were fun again!
[Part of a writing exercise in ‘What If? Fiction writing exercises’. Exercise was to write less than 500 words on topic: Sunday]