i_hate_sundays Annie111 Smells like smoke and rotting wood all the time, gray and disillusioned. The sun sets and I feel like playing U2 because I know that something special fell under the earth and died. There is no promise of an impossible, stuttering, night, just papers and The_Simpsons. I drove past your house today and knew that you were thinking about me. The music melted and slid down the seat, playing "Let it go", like a tragic love song, but I didn't. I followed your tracks to the end of my brain and pulled the ring on the grenade. Bang, and we were alone in a crowd, with the background noise pounding our box from the outside. Can there be a secret act that no-one knows about, even those who commit it? Can something be so subtle that even you and I don't understand it because technically, it doesn't even exist? This imaginary ripple rotates around us, never expanding, but balancing on the ether, contemplating whether to exist or not. Once someone saw the shimmering, the crack in that fabric hanging in front of the light, but told themselves it was a mirage, a glimpse of the possible but never done. Sunday, that sleepy 24 hours of wallowing in your own mental filth. It just makes me want to bathe and wake up to an alive Monday, eyes squinted with tears from the light, but still kicking. 011202 ... only_tuesday i hate sundays because there isn't any good tv on after 9 o'clock 011202 ... ClairE just isn't true. I love Sundays with all my heart. Saturdays are banging days, cupboard door bouncing and voices yelling and cars coming and going--grocery shopping and early rising and math homework to get done. Sundays mean Sunday_Morning with the family and good things for breakfast from the fully-stocked cabinets and being able to find quiet in a pool of sunshine with a good_book. That is why I_love_Sundays. 011202 what's it to you? who go blather from