Sunday

Sunday is the day I deem it to be free-day.

Free from household chores (I usually do them on Saturday morning instead). Free from discussing about work. Free from responsibilites. Free from walking my dog. Free from nagging. Free from any form of duty that could potentially affect my mood.

And it is the day that I do everything or anything that is of my interest.

Free to do blog, edit my photos, watch dvd, go shopping, read, dream of holidays, surf for interesting news on the web, do my nails, have a foot soak, do a hair-spa, spend 30 minutes in the shower, put on a de-stressing mask, listen to Kevin Kern, and the list is unceasing.

And it is also the day, I rebel against my home-affairs minister.

Like not answering the phone, not answering the door, getting my dad to buy lunch instead, etc.
The day I hold power, to do nothing but my favorite activites! Nothing but rest!

...Until my mum yells across the closed-kitchen door all the way across to my closed-door. That was when I had to clear the mess my dog created. I had to clear his poop. I had to help mop the floor. I had to wash the dishes. I had to fold the clothes. She had to nag at my dad. My dad will nag at me. I had to shut my computer. I had to help out. . .

Ultimately, Sunday is not a free-day.

Not unless my home-affairs minister says so.