Sunday Night Feeling (SNF) is an affectionate name we coined in our house some years ago to explain that non-specific anxiety that can descend about 4 pm at the end of the weekend. It’s that feeling of dread that you can’t quite explain but that can be hard to shake off. It doesn’t seem to matter if Monday is shaping up to be a good day, there is something about Sunday evenings that make you want to hit pause and hold off another week for just a bit longer. Sunday has become that finish/start line between one week and the next. And it seems to come around so quickly sometimes. Too quickly really, marking off the weeks that role one into the next without the time to draw breath.
This Sunday the climate was all set for another case of SNF and the treatment had been prescribed: a new TV series, some chocolate and a glass of wine. In fact, I was already horizontal on the sofa, two chocolates down and the same number of sips of wine when a nagging sound in the back of my head got louder and louder, suggesting, warning even, that this needn’t be the answer. That noise, along with the green and sun bathed view from my window pushed me to take a different tact.
I realised, I could stay on this sofa, eyes fixed on the screen with my mind miles away and go to bed feeling groggy and fed up, or I could do something proactive. I could kick the Sunday Night Blues out and celebrate the fact that it’s 20 degrees at 8 pm and there’s at least an hour of daylight left.
Suddenly it was obvious what I needed instead of the TV, sugar and grown up grape juice; I needed trainers, jogging kit and half an ounce of motivation. The trainers were easily located, my decent running socks took some finding (and may have been in the washing pile…) and the motivation took some further hunting down, but boy am I glad I found it.
Jogging along happily for half an hour, I saw people out enjoying themselves, not moping over the end of their weekend like I presumed everyone did. I saw couples having picnics, families playing on the swings, friends hanging out over drinks. I jogged, I daydreamed and I recovered my spirits. I got back and swapped the wine for water and the TV for writing. The chocolates are, quite reasonably, long gone.
This evening is still here for me to enjoy, the Sunday Night Blues have been put to bed early, leaving me with a couple of hours to relax and enjoy the view.
Happy Sunday, Happy Monday, Happy Now.
Everything But The Kitchen Sink 