I’m not sure what causes it. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s just loneliness, or a form of it because it seems to subside when others are around, or if things in my life are going particularly well. But I have a tendency toward the Sunday Sads. My old roommate used to call them The Blues, as she had a problem with them too. Sometimes we’d suffer together.

As an old girlfriend used to say, a typical ingredient in the Sunday Sads are the Saturday Stupids. I find that my Sunday Sads usually involve sleeping in too late, not doing anything productive, not having people (or a person) around to talk to (or at least listen to), not having anything to do, feeling lathargic, insecure, slighly depressed, low on self esteem, and knowing Monday is just around the corner. I can’t tell if most of these things are the symptoms the or results of the Sunday Sads. It seems to me it all just wants compound on each other like bacteria in a petri dish - all you have to do is put it in some light, make sure the temperature is right, and suddenly you have a rampant multiplication of yech.

A couple of days ago I had pretty good bout of the Sunday Sads. I literally didn’t say a word to a single soul all day long. No, wait. I did say “an orange berry blitz please,” and “thank you”. But other than that, no communication. No talking. Nobody else in the world new what I was thinking. What I wanted. What I needed. If I was alive or dead. The solitude was what I thought I wanted, but also what I didn’t. Having nobody around didn’t feel good. But I also thought that calling a friend wouldn’t have helped. So, in a few sentances, that is what the Sunday Sads are like.

Good thing Sunday is only one day of the week.