Sunday mornings are great. Wake up when you want, crack the bizzle when you want, eat when you want, read the newsie--when you want.
There ain't no "work pressure," there ain't no "errands pressure"--assuming that you took care of what needed to be done on el Sabado--there ain't no pressure, at all.
Life is just groovy, man.
Today, I am going to my Mom's house, along with Meeg (and probably Naomi), to celebrate my 36th birthday tomorrow, the 30th of March. We'll have cake and iced cream and pizza and (beer) pop--my suggestions--we'll play some trivia games (which I should win, because I am a genius, don'tcha know) and then we'll trek to Grandmammy's place, in an effort to include the 91-year-old in the reindeer games.
No! I never want to lose this connection, this often-frenetic gathering of family for celebrations of birth. On the other hand.... I don't know. Maybe I'm selfish. Assuredly, I am. But, sometimes, I just wanna be easy on a Sunday morning. I want to slough about, I wanna be my impression of a lazy ass. Three-toed?! Hell, I have five digits with which I can be lazy.
[As an aside, how on earth are three-toed sloths so fucking slow?! What is their heartrate?!What are their thoughts?! I think I'd have to grind about 50 Valiums to get into their zone. They're special, sloths, really special. I hate to say it--no I don't--but I think Yahweh created them on an easy Sunday morning, Day of Rest be damned.]
Back to Sunday birthday celebrations: On the flip-side of the coin, though I may want to relish my (selfish) time to myself, do you know how fucking good it feels to see and be with family? It's great. I was raised in a tight-knit fam dambly--our ties are chokingly tight.
And that's fine. Just fucking fantastic, actually. I've read, in the blog-world, of angst and hatred towards Family. I consider myself blessed beyond belief to have been born into this family. I must have been a pretty decent guy in my former life.
So...the meal for today, to celebrate my 36th birthday on Monday, is pizza (with allll the fixins), Sander's "Bumpy Cake"--chocolate cake with top-side buttercream ribbons--peanut butter-and-chocolate iced cream, my mom's bean salad (fucking otherworldly), a regular lettuce salad (made Brilliant by Moms), and...pop. Soda pop. Or grape juice. Yeah. Beer goes best with birthdays but, I reckon, that ain't an option. For me, at least.
Easy like Sunday morning. Yeah. I can get behind that.
I worked eight hours of time-and-a-half yesterday and I took tomorrow of 'cause it's my birthday. So, shit, eight at 1.5 and then a Sunday-Monday weekend, as well?! It must be my birthday.
I get to celebrate myself, eat some fantastic food, get lovin' by the family, come home, watch the Spartans of Michigan State battle Louisville.... That's a damned good day!
Raise a cup.
Here is to loving families and having loving Family, pizza, March Madness (with your team still kicking), cake, iced cream, presents (?)--do I deserve them?--and Sunday mornings.
Easy Sunday mornings, in which the oil does lubricate and in which the thought of work is a million miles away.
Peace to you.