My husband just said to me that it feels like a Sunday afternoon. Maybe it feels like Sunday because it actually is Sunday. I know it to be true because I read the Sunday paper today. For the most part, all of the days feel the same now, but usually they all feel like Saturday, because we don’t have to go to work the next day, any of the days. The truth is, we hardly ever really know what day it is anymore.
But Sunday actually feels better than the rest of the days. Sunday still feels lazy and wonderful, but now Sunday afternoon turning to Sunday evening is not unwelcome. I get that feeling on Sunday night, like no other night, how great it is that everyone else is going to work the next day and I am not. Most of the days I’m happy to be retired, Sunday night, I’m ecstatic.