Sunday is borrowed time

As I continue my March toward 1000 consecutive days of blogging, it’s getting more difficult to find unique or interesting prompts that I want to write about. I leaned into Google Gemini for this thought-provoking question which helped me narrow my focus for both yesterday and today’s posts. Click HERE to have a look at my thoughts on Saturdays.

I’ve felt it since I was a kid—that subtle, creeping weight that settles in around 2:00 PM. It’s the realization that the weekend hasn’t just paused; it’s beginning to exhale.

The Soundtrack of the Sunday Scaries

Looking back, I realize this is why I’ve always had a bit of an aversion to the NFL. In my childhood brain, professional football was the soundtrack to the end of fun. The NFL meant Sunday; Sunday meant the end of the weekend; and that meant the looming shadow of the school week.

It didn’t help that while the Michigan Wolverines were a powerhouse on Saturday afternoons in the 1980s, the Detroit Lions were… well, they weren’t exactly a reason to look forward to Sundays. For me, pro football became synonymous with a bad taste in my mouth and a knot in my stomach.

Re-Arming for the Classroom

Now, as an adult and a teacher, Sunday feels less like a day of rest and more like a day of re-arming. If Saturday was the “clearing”—the day the armor finally came off—then Sunday is the day I start checking the buckles and straps. I’m already mentally stepping back into the “game face” required to lead a classroom. Even in an era where publishers provide the lesson plans, there is a mental shift that has to happen. You don’t just walk into a classroom; you inhabit a role. That “teacher mode” takes energy to summon.

The 5:00 PM Transition

On visitation weekends, the “borrowed” nature of the day is even more literal. The clock isn’t just ticking toward Monday morning; it’s ticking toward the 5:00 PM departure to meet my son’s mother by 6:00 PM. Sunday becomes a marathon of preparation:

• The Emotional Prep: Making the most of those final hours while simultaneously preparing for the quiet that follows the drop-off.

• The Logistical Prep: The hunt for lost hoodies, packing the bags, and ensuring Kid 2 is ready for his own school week.

• The Professional Prep: Mentally mapping out the week while physically navigating the highway.

A Lost Relic of Rest

I often think about the stories my parents told me about the 50s and 60s—how the world seemed to just stop on Sundays. Businesses were closed; it was a day universally reserved for family or worship. Today, places like Chick-fil-A or Hobby Lobby are outliers, “sabotaging” their bottom line to protect that boundary. In our 21st-century world, where the family structure looks less like Leave It to Beaver and more like my Sunday evening commute, that universal “slow down” feels like a lost relic.

I’m not sure I’m asking for a three-day weekend or a four-day work week, though I see the appeal. Maybe that would give people a truer sense of work-life balance. But the truth is, I’m a product of this American system. I’m used to the 48-hour cycle, even if I spend a third of it looking over my shoulder at Monday.

It brings to mind that line from The Cure:

“Sunday always comes too late”

I used to think that I was just another line in Robert Smith’s attempt at writing an upbeat love song. But now I see it differently. Sunday comes too late because by the time you sit down to breathe, the week has already caught up to you. The transition has already begun.

Acknowledging the Debt

Maybe the goal isn’t to get rid of the “borrowed” feeling, but to acknowledge it. To recognize that even when the clock is ticking and the armor is leaning against the wall waiting for us, there is still value in the quiet moments before we put it back on.

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AI art created with Google Gemini

The article “Sunday is borrowed time” first appeared on Rebuilding Rob.