Sundays have always been a source of discomfort for me. In a whimsical nod to science fiction, I recall the story shared by author Douglas Adams in Life, The Universe and Everything, where an immortal being finds the weight of existence particularly burdensome on Sundays—what he describes as “the long, dark teatime of the soul.” This phrase perfectly captures that familiar Sunday feeling, when the weekend’s chores are done, and you find yourself eating just to fill the void, devoid of any enthusiasm or energy. I can’t speak for those living in other parts of the world, but here in England, this “teatime of the soul” feels especially prolonged and dreary.
Sundays Through the Eyes of a Child in England
Growing up in Britain, Sundays felt like an endless stretch of monotony. The concept of a day of rest harks back to Genesis, where God takes a break after creating the universe in six days. But if He’s all-powerful, why take so long? Why not create it all in an instant? And why rest at all? This biblical precedent meant that in Britain, shops were closed on Sundays.
Deprived of shopping options and desperate for entertainment, we turned to our televisions. Back then, there were only four channels available—imagine that! You either watched whatever was on or faced the daunting prospect of doing nothing. Unfortunately, Sunday programming was dismal at best.
You might find an antique show that, as a child, felt as riveting as watching paint dry. Next, there was a tedious multi-part drama about the English Civil War’s impact on a small town, followed by the notoriously dull quiz show Mastermind, featuring pale participants answering questions about obscure subjects like cutlery history. And to top it all off, there was Last of the Summer Wine, which, if you’re unfamiliar, is a “comedy” about three elderly men wandering Yorkshire, culminating in some bizarre homemade contraption crashing into a tree—accompanied by laughter that sounded more sinister than amusing. It felt like a ploy by the BBC to make children long for the school week ahead. Frustrated, I often retreated to bed, feeling defeated.
Sundays as an Adult: The Disillusionment Continues
As an adult, I had hoped Sundays would be different, but I was mistaken. The rise of multi-channel television, Sunday shopping, and various modern distractions hasn’t lessened Sunday’s existential weight; if anything, it has intensified it. Picture yourself at a farmer’s market, purchasing artisanal cheese or waiting in line at a garden center, clutching a plastic pond liner. Is there anything more bleak than buying something that literally represents nothing?
So, what makes Sundays so dreadful? After spending a significant part of my life in this unyielding cycle, I’ve reached some startling conclusions. The essence of Sunday lies in its promise of freedom. It’s the one day we can do as we please, liberated from obligations. However, this freedom can be overwhelming. Sunday becomes a mirror, reflecting who we are and forcing us to confront the daunting question we often evade: “What do I truly want to do?”
With no responsibilities holding us back, we’re left to ponder our desires and aspirations. Not what society dictates we should want or what’s expected of us, but what we genuinely desire. This introspection is invariably tied to the larger existential query that haunts us throughout life: “Who am I?”
It’s no wonder we shy away from these questions. They shine with an uncomfortable brilliance, making us retreat. The weekdays grant us the comfort of routine, keeping us busy and distracted from deeper self-reflection. When given the chance, we often prefer to engage in mundane activities—shopping, gardening, or simply zoning out—rather than facing those profound inquiries.
In essence, we dread Sundays because they offer a glimpse of freedom. They challenge us to live fully, to explore our passions, and to strive for greatness. Sundays ask us to embrace creativity and possibility, to chase dreams, and to truly exist. They grant us time and space to contemplate how we wish to spend our fleeting moments on this Earth.
Thanks, but no thanks, Sunday. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a plastic pond liner to install while I quietly contemplate my choices.
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Summary
In summary, Sundays are often viewed as the worst day of the week due to their association with existential reflection and the confrontation of our innermost desires. The day’s freedom can lead to overwhelming questions about who we are and what we truly want from life. While society often provides distractions to avoid these introspections, Sundays force us to face them head-on.