When I was little, Sunday meant the same thing as Saturday. There was absolutely no way to distinguish between the two. And I had no need too. I was carefree, as I should have been.

I woke up at the same time on both days — probably not much later than I did on a school day at the time — and my days were very routine. They were likely a blend of Eggo waffles, play dates with friends, playing outside, cartoons, and time spent with my family.

But, alas, this wouldn't last forever.

As someone who is constantly anxious, anticipatory, and imaginative, Sunday, I'm sorry to say, is not my day.

Each week, students and working men and women everywhere look forward to the weekend — at least, most of the time. It's a time for relaxation, time with friends and family, catching up from the past week and preparing for the next one.

It's the time to binge a Netflix show, go to parties, eat lots of food, and do something recreational. To some extent, I do each of these things. However, I have thisperpetual vision in my head ... of me, on Sunday, sitting on the couch — not my couch, necessarily, just some archetypal couch — with the TV on in the background, a coffee nearby, reading a book, and curled up in a blanket.

In my entire 20 years of life, this has probably happened twice. Maybe.

In general, I feel like it's typical for college students — even high school students and workers — to feel at least some sense of letdown when Sunday rolls around and they have to, yes, complete all of the work they failed to complete on Saturday. There isn't too much room for enjoyment as there is no other opportunity to complete certain necessary tasks: you've waited until the last minute ... again.

At college, in my opinion, the distinction is clear. The mood is duller on Sundays. People don't typically have big late-night plans to look forward to. In fact, their only sense of excitement is the fact that they're already thinking about the coming Friday, when freedom begins again.

I've always struggled with Sundays. I don't think it's because I'm more behind on schoolwork than anyone else — though I could be. But for some reason, I always feel somewhat sadder than usual. It's not to say I'm not looking forward to the week — though, generally, I am not excited about quizzes and reading assignments — but more just that I have a lot on my mind, a full schedule, and lists I'd like to check off, but know I won't be able to until Monday comes, then Tuesday, then Wednesday, and so on.

Wikipedia refers to this feeling as the "Sunday night blues." Though I use the term depression cautiously, it refers to a sense of helplessness and anxiety that affects students and workers.

Similarly, a Headspace article, written by Sian Ferguson, associates Sunday with "melancholy" sentiments. These "feeling[s] of dread and anxiety" arise on Sunday afternoons.

In the same article, Dr. Linda Straus explains central to the neocortex of our brains is dread — "a preemptive warning against a possible upcoming negative experience." In other words, school and work can constitute negative experiences, and we realize that.

Nevertheless, I hate Sundays. I wish there was a better word to use, but I'll just leave it at that. There is absolutely nothing I enjoy about that day. It's not the day of relaxation and enjoyment that it used to be. It's stressful, long, and extremely frustrating.

However, I must note, the more I think about it, the more I realize my loathing of Sundays is more about the attitude I wake up with, than the actual day itself — if that makes sense.

I wake up thinking, this is going to be awful, and it usually is.

My mom suggests I need to change my mindset. Maybe I need to set aside a few hours to fulfill my vision and actually read a book, with some coffee, on the couch. I need to not think about the dozens of homework assignments and hours of studying ahead, and actually take some time to appreciate the day.

This, of course, sounds like procrastination, which arguably contributes to the Sunday paradigm in the first place. But who knows? Maybe it's necessary.

I do think there is something to be said for at least trying to enjoy the second, and last, day of freedom each difficult week allows — for what it's worth.

It may not necessarily fix the problem, but at least the day isn't entirely unbearable.

Though I'm pessimistic about this actually working out, I realize I have a better chance of changing my mindset than actually altering the structural implications of the day. After all, Sundays are not going anywhere.

And I suppose I figure since there's typically not a whole lot going on on Sundays, I may as well try to make the most of it and treat each day as a blank slate. Maybe with some effort and a committment to relaxation, I can improve the days.