I hate Mondays...I love Mondays

Premessa: I used to love Mondays. Mostly out of the fantastic feeling of post-weekend chill, being refreshed and charged by sleep, music, fresh air and the lot.
Nowadays, I don't like Mondays very much...The weekend is definetely not long enough, and I don't get enough sleep, and clearly being here means working a lot more even on Saturdays and Sundays, if only to keep the place clean (Mission: Impossible, seen as every day after work I come home and find something that need to be cleaned - usually the stove and kitchen counter...) (seriously, I am dreaming of the day I will go to the kitchen and find it the way I've left it in the morning...).
Also, the weekend means...a confusing feeling of need to go out, breathe air, see places, take pictures, and stay in, watch tv till I become one thing with the sofa, read till I go blind, sleep till I get sick of the horizontal position...
In the end, I am back to the feeling of hating Sundays. As Leopardi said, Saturday is the real joy: that exciting feeling of freedom, of endless free time to spend, of things to do, of relax and...ok, generally freedom. And Sunday simply means preparing for the week to come, looking at the time as hours pass and open the way to another intense, frantic, exhausting week.

So Monday is cool, because I am back on track, my walk to Hove, a new challenge in school for new students (3 Japanese, a Colombian, and yet another Turkish in my class today...), that hyper feeling that keeps me going...
And Monday is bad, because I am back on track, walk all the way to Hove, try to keep a bunch of yawning students interested, and be prepared for more yawning students who will probably be the wrong level for my class (usually they are too high, and go straight to reception after my class, complaining that they find it too slow and boring: IT'S NOT MY FAULT!....The fault is all in that almost annoying girl who should be in elementary, but because she spent 3 months there, direction decided to move her up, and because everything I do is too difficult for her, I must juggle to find things that she can do and things that will keep the other interested...boy, am I earning my place in heaven).

I guess I could go on for hours, but finally I know why I don't like Mondays too much: because they come after a usually lovely weekend with my piccolino, spent walking, watching tv, talking, laughing, window-shopping, cuddling, drinking tea and sharing food, holding him, being with him.

Mondays mean a painful countdown to another beautiful weekend with my piccolino...

Sunday, thinking

An appropriate description of the day that is now slowly ending.
Being January, the SDS is hitting, and I am wondering if I should fight it (therefore trying to be sociable and cheerful rather than locking myself in my room and avoiding contact with other human beings) or just live it, like I do every year.

Spent most of the day also fighting with a bad back for no reason, and reading/studying the Bible: I am still uncomfortable, at times, but I will have a go next Sunday. Picked a church I will go and see (read: find) this week, and in the meantime I will continue to "prepare". Of course, my current anti-social attitude doesn't help...so maybe I should really fight it.

Watched a horrible movie, "Happy feet": all those beautiful animated dancing penguins wasted in a corny moral tale which all of a sudden, like a bad joke, turned political, oh how awful!

Back at the gym, feeling pretty good; on the other side, not eating much, because of the usual: cramps, depressive thoughts, lack of hunger, and when hunger strikes, there is nothing in the fridge. How to lose weight after Christmas.

Thinking a lot about possibilities, and decisions to take. Tough. To stay or to go? "Think hard before making any decision to go bk to Italy, ok?". I will, piccolino. But I am afraid, and I cannot talk to you about it. Sometimes, when I am in my room, and I hear the noise downstairs (cupboards shut, clattering plates, the radio or the tv) and I think of the mess, or as I am walking back after a day of work, gym, and noise everywhere, and cars and people and NOISE, and all I want is silence and a sofa for me and my book, boy, that is when I seriously think that I should go. I feel old and boring when I write these things, but then I excuse myself by thinking that I have been sharing a house for more than 10 years and I am sick and tired of it, and it is not only independence from your family, but also the possibility (read: need) to be alone, whenever you want, and you are never alone, even if you spend a day in your room.
In Swansea I used to walk back home at the end of the day and hide in my room, so often that Welsh housemate and English housemate had to come and knock to see if I was still alive. Bringing tea and a smile. I miss Swansea, the beach, the sun on the sea, the streets in the centre, the walk to the station, even the shops. I miss the talk, that lovely Welsh sound; as always, I look back and miss so many things.

And also, since I am ranting, let's talk of the awful wind that makes my walk to school the most unpleasant experience; and I get so irritable...So people, stop asking me how I am, because if outside it's windy, you can be sure that no, Peggy is NOT fine. She's irrited and irritable, and the more irritable she becomes...uh, sounds familiar...I must fight these bad feelings back. I don't know. Clearly I am very unhappy, but I don't think that moving, going back, staying, will make me feel better.

"I just want you to be able to see light and hope for the future".
I want it too. Maybe this is the reason I have turned to the great complication of opening my spiritual me, hoping that it will help me see some light in this dark lonely bubble, where I can't breathe.

Funnily enough, I was thinking that of all I have done in my life, or at least in the past ten years, I cannot regret anything, because everything has led to a new friend, even a short-term friend, or a new experience, a new book, a new language, whatever. I don't even regret coming to Brighton, although for the wrong reasons. I suppose I am just tired, and confused, and messed up inside, with no clear goal to achieve except to arrive at the end of the month, leaving the big questions aside.

And finally, it's time to go back to my books: drown in words, as usual, and trust that God will show the way.

What's the point of the glottal stop anyway?

Apart from being so incredibly IRRITATING???