Got awakened this morning, this Sunday morning at 5.11 am, by a town crier preacher.
He was on his bullhorn screeching religious songs of some sort into his inaudible loudspeaker tool.
At first, I didn't know where I was. I had recently returned from a metropolitan city where days like Sunday mornings are sacred, and are instead spent qualitatively sleeping off your hangover. I proceeded to the restroom, awakened further by the intrusion of the light bulbs and the cold air on my skin. Upon my return to my bed, I became fully aware of my surroundings, but still unable to decipher the voice over the speakers or his mission this morning. What did he hope to achieve? To convert non-believers, by disrupting their slumber this early on a Sunday morning? He must have assumed, "What better day to get their attention? What better medium except for a call to action? Arise sinners, and by all means, do repent."
The gramophone sounded overworked and grainy, or maybe that was just in my head from being rudely torn from my slumber a mere 2 hours after falling asleep. As I wrestled myself back to sleep using the hum of the air conditioner to drown out his wails, I wondered how I got into this mess - living my life in the suburbs where people neglect the sanctity of the weekend, especially Saturdays. What are Saturday mornings for? Do they even know. Saturday mornings are to say embrace that hug that is your consolation for having survived yet another chaotic humdrum work week. Do they even know? What about Sunday mornings? Sunday mornings are brunch mornings where you get to relive the debauchery of the weekend over cocktails and pancakes that somehow have a way of comforting you as they energize you for the week ahead.
In my current environment, can they respect that this is my one 24 hours to escape into single person bliss and pretend to be "non-suburbian" aka normal? Since I don't have the Saturday morning overnight visitor or the elaborate Sunday brunches, all I have is a goodnights rest, can they at least give me that moment of solace.
Eventually I fell asleep, and when I awakened 30 minutes later, he was done with his 'sermon on the roadside' and I was left wishing, hoping to end up in a place that respects the sanctitude of weekend abyss.
As a single person, what do Saturday and Sunday Mornings represent to you?
Eventually I fell asleep, and when I awakened 30 minutes later, he was done with his 'sermon on the roadside' and I was left wishing, hoping to end up in a place that respects the sanctitude of weekend abyss.
As a single person, what do Saturday and Sunday Mornings represent to you?
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