At book club today, Meg pointed out that Sundays always have some semblance of depression with the way that they come and go. The weekend's over and irresponsibility is no longer looming in the forefront of time, but preparing to make its way to the other side of the week - real life is suddenly coming back, and the laundry needs to be done and everything has to be laid out and readied for the working days ahead. I don't necessarily get to feeling depressed on Sundays, but there is a sort of sense of closure. This was a good weekend to have closure on, though. I have everything prepared for my Monday through Friday, and I have my column ready to proof, type, edit and bring with me to the board's meeting this Tuesday afternoon. It's that thing for which I am so excited and I've been so evasive in actually describing outright here. I'm almost nervous about it. I don't want to jinx myself.
In the meantime, my plan is to read a section or story in Night Shift every night and then to follow up with reading from Under the Dome. I'm not sure if the miniseries premiers next week or the week that follows, but I know it's soon to arrive. I'm eager to continue in my self-imposed Stephen King endeavor, but it will be difficult to top the fondness I feel for his Bachman work after completing Rage.
On another note, the Huckleberry is in town, but I likely won't have the opportunity to see him until tomorrow (hopefully not later, though that's the way our luck in interacting has typically worked in the past) night. Seems that there's something of an unstable atmosphere making meteorological forecasting a little interesting for the next few days. It'd be nice to have him around for a night like that.
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