Although there are only seven days in a week, most people have a favorite and least favorite day of the week. You, Sunday, used to be my favorite day of the week for several reasons. However, now that I am growing older, you have become my least favorite day of the week for many different reasons.
You used to be my favorite day of the week. When you arrived when I was younger, I used to feel excitement take over my body. You, Sunday, meant several things to me when I was little. You meant a chance to talk with God at a morning outing at church where I was surrounded by many close friends and loved ones. You meant family dinners of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and corn. You meant afternoons of some family activity -- going to a movie, going to my grandparents’ or my aunt’s, or even cleaning the shop -- all of which my mom dubbed “Family Fun Day.” You meant nightly drives scouting for deer. All of these events hold a special place in my heart, and when I think of you, Sunday, I think of spending time with the ones I love most -- my family.
You are now my least favorite day of the week. Now that I’m older and away at college, I have developed a hatred for you. Two hundred miles away from home, I am unable to spend the morning of your arrival at church with my family and loved ones. I no longer get to enjoy the special family dinners or nightly drives. In fact, you no longer remind me of the time I get to spend with the ones I love the most. Now, Sunday, you make me dread your arrival for several reasons. To begin with, I spend your arrival waking up to work on homework due the following day. I occasionally eat a decent meal with my family for lunch, but only if I’ve traveled two hundred miles home. My afternoon consists of packing my belongings, filling up with gas, and driving those two hundred miles back to college. None of my day is spent with family or friends. My day isn’t productive, but instead, my day is sad and stressful.