I could do without Sundays

I'm sitting in the dark too upset to cry. I hate Sundays. I've always hated Sundays. There were a few years that Sundays were good: roast and TV and family and happy. But mostly they have been miserable and awful and lonely. Everyone does family stuff and I have only my loneliness to entertain me. Tonight I was pacing around the apartment when I realized that I just wanted to sit in the dark. So I turned out the lights, wrapped myself in my fleece blanket and sat in my chair by the window. I cried a bit but I'm too much trapped inside my head to really let anything out.

When I was little, Sundays were usually not happy. My memories of Sundays seem very surreal. I don't remember Sunday mornings. Maybe my mother actually let me sleep. Afternoons were often spent at gymnastics or the swimming pool or playing badminton. Then eating hot dogs or noodles at the sports centre canteen. Then home in the evening and somehow my mother was always miserable. I only ever remember eating out on Sunday evenings. Mostly at the Cricket Club. Because that was my nanny's day off so there was nobody to cook. To this day, I can't stand my mother's cooking. Everyone else's mom seems to cook just fine but not my mom. I think I inherited that from her.

And now, all of my friends are doing family stuff. I can't think of a single person I know who doesn't have family here. Even my ever-loving boyfriend can't come home from his parents house early to talk to me. I don't think that he wants to talk at all. We had a Skype date for yesterday morning but he broke it because he had to have birthday brunch with his mother. I feel like shit for being resentful but I can't help it.

I think it may be time for a new pack of cigarettes. I can't remember the last time I bought one. But now seems as good a time as any to buy another.