Why is it that just as the monthly cycle of the moon affects those among us with a potentially tidal mentality, Sunday nights also have a stange cylical effect on me?
Not only me of course, millions seem to suffer a dose of the melancholic mind as sunday lunch turns into a rapidly ebbing end of the weekend.
Today as i drove off across county to see my grandmother it was more for the space so I could wallow in the mild depression that often lives at this end of the week. As i drove, headphones playing a soundtrack that matched my feelings, I thought about this very state of mind and how it was that a certain perspective seems to live here. Here and in those precious moments before bed when you should really turn the computer off as every googled idea is one more thought keeping you from a blissful and much needed sleep.
My music acted as an almost effective filter on the outside world both in and out of the car as i swarmed with the sheeple doing Sunday things. Everything bothered me. The people and their shopping, the hanging LCD screens babbling their sales pitches above the myriad products I had to pass to get to the basic edible necessities of life. The ten of everything, the fake radio station designed to subliminally implant ‘great deals’ into my already tired mind. The non organicness of every identical red pepper.
It bothered me, but inside this Sunday feeling, I could forgive it all. I could let it slide on by because this feeling tells you on the one hand, it is all too late to worry about, just listen to the music, float ethereally through and past it all because there is no hope… And that’s ok.
I know thiis sounds defeatist, but in reality I truly think that this letting go, this depressed acceptance is something far more positive than any defeatist thought. That in fact i was experiencing another incredibly lucid state of mind where everything appears as it truly is, transient.
Perhaps the passing of the weekend in it’s own transience had once again given my otherwise socially programmed mind a rest, a reboot in safty mode. As it relaxed into a logical acceptance of here and now maybe it remembered all those ‘nice’ ideas it stumbled apon whilst travelling, wound down to an almost catatonic state of hippy bliss when the statement, “There is no permanence but impermanence,” bought a satisfied nod through a hazy gaze.
That Sunday feeling… The realisation that your time isn’t really your own… that our society is built apon rules you don’t always agree with… that Mondays come around all to easy and someone with less of an idea than you is about to tell you what to do… And if your lucky….. the realisation that none of this really matters.