There is not, nor has been ever been anything to recommend Sunday night. I don't know why it was ever invented. I mean, tomorrow is Monday, and no one will argue the worthlessness of any Monday. I suppose the best thing that could be said of it, is that on a cloudless morning the sun might come up like a Red Rubber Ball.
It might be a good day to haul in some wood against the winter that is yet to come - no matter what the bought and paid for prognosticators might be saying. I drove over to Pineland this morning for one of their famous cinnamon rolls and in the fifty feet or so between my car and the door I almost expired in the blistering freezing wind right off the top of Mount Washington. Fortunately, being the hearty soul that i am, I survived.
Towards the middle of the night, I woke to see light coming in the window and discovered that the simple door light was reflecting off the newly fallen snow - only an inch however, and it made any light seem more than it was. I wondered at the time if I would be able to drive over the four miles to that cinnamon roll without incident. I am happy to report that all is well and that the morning repast was just as expected. Although, I had to resupply the coffee after a while. These days, they say it's better for you than previously thought. Sip, sip.
None of this actually happened on Sunday night, you understand, but it occupies the mind on Sunday night. About all I can say that would recommend Sunday night is - if your system can tolerate it - loads of ice cream. I would offer high test gin but that is it's own problem. In moderation, however, it can ease the ragged edges of a Sunday evening until morning. And, of course, morning is, after all - Monday. I guess there's no way around that.
Good luck with that.
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