Sunday - when luck shines on the restless few

As a student, I never really stopped to think about what a Sunday could possibly mean. For me, it was just another holiday lost in the throng of holidays waiting for me. Summer holidays, Diwali holidays, Christmas holidays. Just another way to let out all the ‘supposed’ stress that education put me through. The days would come and go by with me doing little more than plopping my lazy behind on the couch and flipping through channels. And then I grew up.
I always thought that the end of college spelt freedom for me. For three years, I waited to step out and get myself a wonderful career, earn a lot of money and spend it without a thought. My working friends would smile knowingly and ask me to make the most of my college days, as those were the days where freedom was easy to gain. I, however, thought they were wrong. Now, I often wish I could go back to those times and kick some sense into my tiny little brains. I wish I could go back and tell myself to make the most of my college days. Because lately, freedom is one of those little items in my list of ‘unachievable dreams’.
My first job was not really a job. I barely had anything to do, and as my colleagues often said, it was ‘chilled out’. A year went by, and I did not achieve much, and soon, it was time for me to move on. And then came the real world, crashing down upon me like an avalanche, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I spend 6 days a week, innumerable hours a day, cooped up in what we call ‘the dungeon’ trying to achieve 10 things at one go. That is when I realise how grateful I am for the joy of 'Sundays'.
Throughout the week, the one thing that helps me grin and bear the ups and downs is the thought of the Sunday, my light at the end of the dark and dreary tunnel. A Sunday where I can stay in bed all day doing absolutely nothing. A Sunday where I will not be plagued by alarms, deadlines, lunatic project managers, marketing people who think they are the next David Ogilvy and clients who pay us to communicate and end up doing most of it themselves, because creativity seems to evade them like the plague. A Sunday that is just for me and my crazy thoughts, a break from the daily roller-coaster ride. My day of peace and unashamed laziness. My day to tell the world to go take a hike, because I have the divine right to stay plonked on the bed all day and not give a hoot about a deadline; the client won't die if his brochure says '4-6 hours' instead of '6 hours' for a few more minutes. Something as trivial as this is forbidden to wrench me out of my paradise and fling me into the deepest pits of hell. So here goes, Sunday is MY day. No matter what anyone says or does, Sunday is the one day I refuse to wrack my tiny brains, even for something as inconsequential as deciding on a meal.