Guys, it seems like just yesterday that it was Friday and we were all lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend...But jeez, where did that weekend go? There's something both magical and tragic about a Sunday at TrinColl-- its complexities stem from an internal struggle between doing your Lit Analysis paper and an overwhelming desire to climb back into bed and try to relive your Saturday night.
When you wake up on a Sunday morning, there's typically a checklist to run through. First off, the phone. I went to bed "early" last night, so I had a few "Wherj arr you!" texts from 4:30 am. Check in with those people, making sure they made it home okay and didn't try too hard to find you, since they clearly didn't. Then, you've gotta run through whatever conversations your phone holds that are potentially embarrassing and/or incriminating. Damage control, friends. Check Facebook to make sure your friend who walked home alone without a phone or ID (because she lost them on Thursday) has been active online in the last six hours, ensuring her survival. Check muploads, statuses, and pictures posted by lightning-quick taggers. Untagging checks may be necessary throughout the day.
The highlight of Sundays comes from your typical Mather brunch. As Carrie Bradshaw says, "There are very few things this New Yorker loves as much as Sunday brunch. You can sleep until noon and still get eggs anywhere in the city, alcohol is often included with the meal, and Sunday is the one day a week you get the single woman's sports pages: the New York Times wedding section." Well, our brunches don't always include the NYT or mimosas (how could you even think about alcohol on a Sunday morning?), but the egg line at Mather is always full of gossip. Sunday brunch is your last chance to relive--or remember-- the highlights of your weekend, because it's just gonna be downhill from here. Relish in sharing stories and pictures and trying to remember why the quote "Does anyone have the number for Campus Sandwich?" seemed so hysterical last night. Mather Sunday is full of awkward eye contact when you realized that the cowboy you dfmo'd last night is ohh, that senior in your psych class...
Eventually the thrill of reliving your pathetic six-second keg stand must wear off, however, and you trek back to your room, stopping in the four separate rooms you left things last night. (Lost: Phone, wallet, dignity.) As you replace the warm leftover beers in your backpack with textbooks, the thought of keeping your eyes open and being productive seems highly unlikely. It's 2 pm, and your roommate is still in bed?! Don't they have work to do?! (Maybe they didn't save all of it for Sunday, Chloe...) Trudge to the library, taking ages to actually open a textbook because you have to go through everycollegegirl's new party album named after an inside joke.
You'll soon realize that you've yet again wasted four or five hours in the library and not gotten anything actually done. Dinner is a slightly less embarrassing version of brunch, except that at that point you're exhausted and have actually run out of things to talk about. Conversation typically turns to "Where did this day go?""I have so much work to do," "Sundays suck." And Sundays do kind of suck. Your mood can be dictated by whether you had a good Saturday or not, so it's easy to be in a bad mood. Usually work is stressing you out, but it's impossible to get done. A perfect Sunday at TrinColl usually involves forgetting last night's embarrassment and spending the entire day in bed with Netflix on demand.
People say Mondays are hard, but Sundays rule both the week and the weekend as a lazy, listless day.
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