Sunday can kill you.
People invented this day to rest from work.
This is an imaginary day, where thoughts run free and the human spirit breaks every boundaries.
At least until Monday knocks at the door.

People work for money, and spend money on work. The circle is closed the moment you you go to a bank and get a loan. Sunday is the day you don't care about the rest of the world (like you did care during work days, but okay... keep on lying to yourself that you are humane) and nobody can take it from you.
Then why do people like to commit suicide on Sundays?
Why do people feel depressed on Sundays?
Why do I feel like I want to poke my eyes out with an enormous butcher knife on Sunday?

You have nothing to do and it kills you. You cannot go to work, your office is closed (or wherever you work and slave away). You cannot have sex because you are too tired or your partner is sleeping. The day passes slowly and you are irritated. You wanted to engage in different relaxing activities but you can't because your employer sucked out your blood during the week. Everything is gray. If it rains, you cry. Nothing matters and nothing seems interesting. You can't wait for Monday, but when you think of Monday you want to puke. (This is a paradox, I know...) The world is silent and very still. The animals are sleeping. Your brain is sleeping. The cars are there, but you can't hear them rumble like you usually do. What's going on?

Sunday is going on. That's what.
Keep the rodents away.

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