There is a feeling of dread; or perhaps a watered down version of it. That's how I feel on most Sunday evenings.

It's raining and the dancing leaves outside make patterns against the window pane. There is a music playing in the other room and it is a very comforting, faraway sound. I am eating a green apple cut into very tiny pieces. I wish I could close my eyes and make this last for a long time to come.

Then soon enough, I realize that tomorrow is Monday and the feeling of dread bubbles inside of me. I think of the work, the crisp smell that I associate with air-conditioned offices and the long phone calls with people who have condescending tones.

Soon enough a countdown will begin for the weekend and all too soon that will be over too. And repeat.