Rainy days and Sundays

All my life, I've had a bad case of the Sundays. I know a lot of people, from Garfield to the Mamas and the Papas, have it in for Monday, but when Monday morning comes I just get up and go do it to it. But Sunday... Sunday just hangs Monday over my head all day. For most of my life, Black Sunday began after the ritual reading of two newspapers (first the Ithaca Journal and the Syracuse Herald-American, later the St. Augustine Record and the Florida Times-Union, no matter how awful a paper it was... and you can't spell "flatulent" without Fla. T-U.) It had its own ritual, starting with the comics and the sports, all the way through every last opinion column in an effort to forestall the Sundays. Now the Sundays start when Coffee With Lauren ends... I don't know what I'm going to do when she leaves in a few months. (People are always leaving here... but that's another topic.)

This Sunday, today, has been particularly harsh, as it's brought nothing but cold, windy rain-- my least favorite weather condition, behind only tornadoes and locusts-- all day. It's seemed even worse after the sunny, springlike weather that has held for most of February. Just as I discontinue my gym membership (which, between the weather and my head cold, I've used once all month) and hunt for a new used bike, the weather, in the immortal words of Homer J. Simpson, is the "suckiest suck that ever sucked a suck."

I waited most of the day for the rain to stop in order to get in my long, half-marathon-training run, and finally went out anyway and thought, "Hey, this isn't so bad." Then I turned around into the wind, said some naughty words, and came straight back. I ended up running 15 of my planned 70 minutes, came back and took as warm a shower as the building allowed, and did a whole New York Times Sunday crossword.

When I was a kid, I'd watch Lassie at about this time on Sunday night and my mom would inevitably make pancakes or French toast or real waffles and I'd feel better. Well, if Timmy's down the well he's going to damn well stay there, because Korean TV doesn't show Lassie. My mom's not making me my bestest comfort food anymore. And I made myself French toast for lunch and the magic's worn off.

...sigh...

Oh! I just noticed that this is my three hundredth blog entry!  :: blowing soggy unfurls-when-you-toot-it noisemaker ::