Stumbling Toward God

I always hated Sundays. Growing up, it was supposed to be a weekend; a day off, like Saturday. Only it never was, because I had to do homework and chores and whatever else before Monday. Later in life, I had a job where I had to work on Sundays. It was only for three hours, but it was right in the middle of the day, so I couldn't make any big plans, and I was only making minimum wage at the time anyway, so it was pretty much a wasted day for about twenty bucks. So Sundays always felt like a rip off.

I liked October. Maybe it was just that the shortening days interacted in such a way with my schedule that it seemed to be twilight a lot longer than in other months. October is a little gloomy but not really cold, and, to me at least, it seemed to have a perpetual sense in the air of old things passing and new things beginning-- a surreal time, like when you are on the edge between waking and sleeping and reality mixes with dreams in strange ways.

At one point, I wanted to write a song called "October Sunday" to try and capture the contrast of my least favorite day with my favorite month.

Well, times change. They don't even have Autumn in Phoenix, and somehow, it just hasn't really been the same since I came back. For the past year or so, Sunday has become my favorite day of the week.

It was raining when I woke up this morning. Since there was no food in the house, I went for a short walk in the drizzle to the grocery store around the corner. There was the peculiar smell of fire mixed with rain- very surreal. October Sunday. On days like this, I wish I was a rockstar.