Sunday Nights - a slow surrender.

Well, here we are at the end of the weekend. It hasn't been a particularly good or bad one, so there's not even that much to look back on as the relaxing Sunday evening regimen of talent-show results and toasted sandwiches.

I don't know why, but I thought that once I'd come to university these afternoons would be different. More interesting and full of drinking games and barely appropriate banter. That has not been the case. It seems that the zeitgeist of my generation has been permeated by this belief that Sunday evenings (or in fact, the entirety of Sunday, as evidenced by myself today) aren't particularly good for anything. No one seems to want to go out, and everyone who stays in never seems to do anything worthwhile. Gone 4 o'clock on a Sunday the world might as well be over.

Add to that the constant sense that there was more stuff you could've accomplished in the previous 48 hours than getting blind drunk and doing some washing and ironing and you've basically got a recipe for a couple of hours spent lounging around, feeling depressed and wondering if any of it is really worthwhile. A part of me wonders if psycho-analysts shouldn't rename Sunday, it just feels a little too warm for what the day eventually broils down to. The inevitable revelation that your 2 day break is over and you're sullenly going back to hard work in the morning.

Still, at times like this there's something I always like to say to remind myself that life's worth living:

One Weekend closer to Christmas.

Hopefully that propels you readers through any sunday night angst you may be feeling at this point in time.

Matt out.