Sunday is finally gone, praise God. It always feels like I just got locked in a cage with a bear. Every Sunday the week breaks up with you and the office beckons. Every Sunday it’s twenty-four hours of classic basic-model depression. There’s nothing wrong. It’s just God, balancing out the high of Saturday. The rules are that we all have to take down a heap of pain one way or another. If you’re not a refugee then you’ll just have to be miserable in your apartment. No motivation or pride or energy or life or hope. Spend the full day plunging down stupid Internet rabbit holes, feel like an old lame fraud because your favorite songs came out like three years ago. Stalk the streets with a tall beer. At least you still drink a little bit. Feel a weird twang in your abdomen and then frantically Google to see where the liver is. It’s on the other side of the torso; we’re good.
Then comes Monday and the resurrection. Now fuck off; it’s time for me to pillage.
Alternate Post Title: God Is A Bitch