Sunday is for me, the day of regret. Saturday is always someone’s big chance to make an ass out of himself, to do something he knows he’ll regret. It is usually the one day of the week that gives us enough time within it to look over the last week and realize all the things we could have done differently. There were things I shouldn’t have done and now wish I hadn’t while there are also things I wished I’d have done a long time ago but waited until now to do them. And of course, we all know that now is too late. Monday approaches and with it comes another chance, if you measure time in weeks, like I do.

Today it was warmer and sunny. I should have forced myself to go to the park like I used to, forced myself into sunshine. But I didn’t. I stayed inside, my blinds leaking in what I knew to be a beautiful day for December. I noded, and talked to an old college friend on MSN and hopefully got her started on E2. I ran out to work to snag a few rolls of film for Sheri to take with her, along with my camera, to France. I made it home in just enough time for church, where I was to recite my story about how I got saved.

On the way back from church I lugged my bike upstairs, tubes for which I’ve had in a bag hanging on the doorknob for a week now. Always putting it off, putting it off. I haven’t showered since Friday and my hair stuck up so bad I’ve worn a bandanna all day. I guess I’m waiting for another Sunday, the first Sunday of the New Year, to really care about getting my act together. Sometimes, all I have are Sundays.

One day, I hope to make up my mind about some things in my life. That day will likely be a Sunday, but it won’t be this Sunday.

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