"I was like a clock that had exploded ... my springs were hanging out,
my hands were cockeyed, and my numbers were falling off."
Anthony Kiedis
As I worked with clients who struggled with hollow Sundays, I would insist they have a plan as the day approached. It seemed that four o'clock would be the preferred time as one would have all day to look forward to it. Preferably, it would be intention to leave the house and have an adventure with or without a friend transitioning through lonely hours.
If we were not in the midst of the virus restrictions, we could plan to see a Sunday afternoon matinee or walk the lovely trail at the Nature Center or hit the flea markets and antique malls. Getting lost in a library has been a profitable escape or create a 'meeting of the minds' at a local coffee shop. The list is endless, but it is necessary to have it in place prior to Sunday.
Unfortunately, I do not listen to myself. Saturday was a wonderful day wrapped in a beautiful array of activities; however, by Saturday evening, I noticed my emotional scales begin to slide. I was only facing empty hours that simply needed some structure; but, I felt my tears were distinguishing my flame and darkness was settling in. Immediately, I pulled out my pre-made list of things to do on Sundays and "Voila!" Adventure was prancing before me.
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