should be sung as a dirge, I think. I hated Sundays as a kid, the blue of it, the going to church (boring), the driving around afterward (boring) in the family station wagon, looking at houses, stopping to buy lumber at the hardware store, the whole day stretched out not a speck of joy. In fact, when I really think about it, the only time Sundays were bearable was when I had a job as a pastry chef and worked them, just another day. Even Henry, my most joyful of children hates Sunday. And Oliver has recently figured out that he hates them and wonders why they're so horrible. Why? he asked today, Why do they go on and on but then it's already over?
I bet you were wondering where my post was today. Here you have it -- a dirge of a post. But at least tomorrow's Monday.