Sunday

Admittedly, the past couple of years, Sundays have been getting better. Traditionally Sunday is my day of self-loathing and pity parties with some anxiety attacks to spice it up.

The trick that did it for me has been touching base with family. Who knew that keeping in contact with the supposed beginnings of my miserable existence would be the panacea to hate-to-be-me Sundays. I write my Dad in jail. His being there has forced me to sit down and write a letter out, it's really nice. Also I try to touch base with my younger cousin or email my baby brother. (Since Facebook is not my thing, it is totally in my court to keep up.) A phone call to an aunt or uncle. People I am extraordinarily fortunate to have in my life, and they have to talk to me, we're related.

In addition to the above, I do laundry. Starting the week with all clean clothes helps things, plus it keeps me busy, plus I don't have to feel that I leave EVERY house-hold chore to the husband, plus I can read a book or watch TV in-between loads but still feel like I'm a productive person.

Don't forget Miss Appalled, if you do, come back and re-read.