As I type this blog on a Sunday evening, I am plagued with a feeling of despair and weariness. My weekends are usually very uneventful - running errands, cooking, cleaning, and lounging with a book. In contrast, my work weeks are intellectually captivating, vibrant with student interactions, and fun-filled collegial friendship. I cannot speak for others but why then do I feel the Sunday blues? I don't know.
I have moved from sunny California to the overcast gloomy skies of Princeton, New Jersey. I was never fond of bright sunny days, so the overcast weather serves as a perfect backdrop for my leisurely spent weekends. And thanks to our 8 months long Covid quarantine, the weekend indulgences carry onto the workweek. Zoom meetings in PJs, not getting ready for the long commute, personal and work-life boundaries blurred into one long stretch of days. And somehow our life has been reduced to a linear existence without the multi-dimensions that made it rich and complex.
But I digress. At a time, when workweek and weekends have lost their distinct flavors, I try to scratch deeper into the phenomena of sunday blues. I think it is the 'end' that contributes to the despair. Sunday evenings remind us of an end. We often associate 'end' with sadness, instead in my case, I could think of it as a joyous end to my unstructured time and the 'beginning' of the comfortable routine.
