Sunday evening in late September

It is almost eight o’clock and it is almost dark. Three months ago it would have been still daylight. I am not fond of early darkness and even less pleased with a dawn that comes so late in the morning.   I think this feeling has grown as I have aged; I like the light. I want dawn to have arrived and be waiting for me when I wake, not the other way around.

I am glad not to be still of high school age when Sunday night rolls around, for I was, and still am, a procrastinator. I well remember vowing to not let the week-end homework wait until Sunday, but each week I broke that vow.  I believe that Sunday evening grind forever colored my mood about that time in the week, even if I have nothing hanging over my head for Monday.  Of course, there was that rush of relief when all was done and in a way, I think I miss that. And that sounds very much like the concept of hitting your head on the wall because it feels so good when you stop. That thought made me either grimace or grin and I really can’t tell which.