I hate Sundays, the library is closed. It’s cold and miserable and I have nowhere to go and nothing to do. I’ll probably spend most of the day walking around because it’s too cold to sit down anywhere. I’m probably one of the few people who actually look forward to Mondays.
But that’s okay because I do that a lot anyway. Not outloud because then people would look at me and I hate that. I talk to myself in my head, conversations with imaginary people in which I am witty and clever. Sometimes it’s rehashing conversations that I had years ago but this time I say the right thing. Mostly I talk to myself because I have no-one else to talk to.