The long, dark teatime of the soul
Such are Sunday afternoons - they are the long, dark teatime of the soul. As far back as I could remember, I hated Sunday afternoons.
It is a surreal time of the week - where time and space behaves differently. Space, all at once seems infinite, but it rushes in and tries to strangle you. Completely the opposite of the Infinite Perspective Vortex. Time, at the same time, drags and the clock seems to tick a wee bit faster. Except that on a Sunday afternoon, there are 120 seconds in every minute.
Colours seems dull to me on Sunday afternoons. Food has no taste, and although I take it in small quantities, it always make me feel bloated.
Sunday afternoons confines me to my own little universe. And I was never meant to be alone.
Then again... that may be why they invented the Sunday afternoon nap.
It is a surreal time of the week - where time and space behaves differently. Space, all at once seems infinite, but it rushes in and tries to strangle you. Completely the opposite of the Infinite Perspective Vortex. Time, at the same time, drags and the clock seems to tick a wee bit faster. Except that on a Sunday afternoon, there are 120 seconds in every minute.
Colours seems dull to me on Sunday afternoons. Food has no taste, and although I take it in small quantities, it always make me feel bloated.
Sunday afternoons confines me to my own little universe. And I was never meant to be alone.
Then again... that may be why they invented the Sunday afternoon nap.
posted by Nico at 9:22 pm
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