Something about Sunday nights...

I love Sundays. Not the invariable dread that comes with knowing the weekend is over, or that you have work (or deadlines) looming -- but that fine hour or two before bed, when your laundry is whirring in the dryer, your bed is made with clean sheets and your room is tidied.

It's a brief pocket of domestic serenity. I putter, do my nightly rituals, and stretch out on my bed with a book. I've got a bit of fancy new incense burning (an old habit I recently resurrected). Two small, warm lamps in the bedroom while the rest of the apartment is dark. Extra pillows for reading.

And right now, blessed silence. No television, radio, or children shrieking from the apartment below. And the self-indulgent knowledge that I can stay up late tonight without worrying about rushing to an office, catching transit or waiting in the cold. And I'm grateful for all of it.

When I curl up in bed shortly, I won't go to sleep right away. Because right now, everything is calm. Quiet. The city slumbers, waiting for those early hours of bustling, noise and stress. And I am still awake. Listening to the silence, and enjoying the feel of the bed and all the potential of a new week ahead.

I almost feel optimistic. Quite out of character for me -- invariably, something sucky will happen tomorrow to erase this moment. But for now, it's mine.