Bleck. There used to be a love-hate relationship between me and Sunday nights....it's morphed into a hate-hate relationship. I know I've said it before, but by the time Sunday night gets here I'm exhausted. Pooped. Wiped out. Completely and utterly drained. Wishing I had another weekend to make up for the weekend...to push away all the stuff that was tiring and squeeze in a little of the stuff that a weekend is supposed to be about.
That's all--nothing new. Or, as my dad would so eloquently say, 'same shit, just reheated'. Bring on Monday morning; I'm guessing it has nothing on Sunday night.
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