The Phenomenon Called "Lamentable Sunday Nights" and Why They Occur: A Blog Post by Julia.

Well, because I'm "that kid," I did the Analyze your writing! thing three times. Just for fun. (And to see if the website was actually consistent.) 

I write like Chuck Palahniuk. Sorry, sir, I'm not sure who you are.
I write like Edgar Allan Poe. Sir, I know who you are.
I write like Cory Doctorow. Sorry, sir, I'm not sure who you are either.

Either my style of writing changes with every blog post (very possible) or that website isn't as consistent as I'd hoped (even more possible). But hey, it was interesting! Who cares if it is based on an algorithm or if it's produced by a literature/composition geek hanging out in his dark basement, surrounded by books, writing by candlelight, and only emerging from his shockingly small bedroom to make coffee or have dinner when his mama calls him. I'd take either answer :)

Now it's Sunday night. Ahh...Sunday night. My least favorite time of the week. It's the time when I (re)realize I put my homework off as long as possible. It's the time when I realize that if I don't do three loads of laundry before I go to bed, I'll be going to school naked for the next week. Yikes. It's the time when I really want to take a shower, read a book, watch TV, light my yummy-smelling Cookies for Santa candles from Target (everyone loves Target; don't deny it. I also have a HUGEEEEEEE obsession with these candles) and snuggle into my bed at a decent time...like anytime before 1am. High standards, I know.

What really happens on these notorious Sunday nights? I (re)realize that procrastination is a (fill in the blank with your favorite colorful word). Harumph. 

I can guarantee I will spend the next 8-10 hours cramming for the next week and telling myself It is only five days. Then you can sleep and catch up on life. During this time, I will be texting my best friend, who will also be doing the same thing: cramming like crazy. That's just how we work. Sure, she'll go to bed two hours before me because she does homework some Friday nights (yes, we are both aware that we do not have social lives, thank you for checking), but we both hate Sunday nights. Because we both procrastinate. 

Why do I do this to myself? Why do I leave all my homework/laundry/lunch-packing/cramming/reading/anything I would ever need to do for Sunday night? Why don't I just do it and not suffer through long nights at the beginning of the week?

The best answer I have is that I'm human. Honestly. That's all I have for you. And because YOLO. Sorry, it's this generational thing. We have weird catchphrases. But honestly...YOLO. We had a choir party last night, and did I think about my homework? Yes. At the beginning of the party, in the middle of it when I told Michael to shut up and stop talking about school, and at the end of it as I was driving home and thinking Oh, shit. I've screwed myself over for tomorrow. Then I shrugged and went on with my life. 

This is how far my concern extends: I got up at 1pm today (for the record, totally not intentional. My mother said she would get me up for church. Did that happen? Of course not. Did she assume I would get myself up eventually? Yes. Did my body decide not to wake up until it was bursting with sleep? Of course. So 1pm it was), frolicked around my house for a while (I honestly can't remember what I did. Oh...I ate popcorn. That's about it?), then made Christmas cookies with my siblings. And now it's 5pm and I'm kicking myself. But...

It's worth it. I spent last night with some of the most fantastic people in the world. I laughed my butt off and didn't stop smiling for hours. I have a bloody lip because a snowball fight was amazingly fun. I made cookies with my siblings because it's tradition and sometimes being with your family is more important than working on the not-yet-started MoPro part three or studying for a physics test. Especially considering the recent circumstances. Sometimes it's covering the dog in flour (sorry not sorry, Gabi!) and bickering over who made too many snowflakes and why there is flour on the dog and who left the cookies in there that long and wait they're not done put them back in and oh my gosh you have flour all over your face stop eating the cookie dough don't think I didn't see you Mom are these done yet when are we decorating the cookies wait make me one more letter oh and one more snowman and stop it we have enough stupid circles! Sometimes that's what makes life messy, fun, memorable, perfectly imperfect, meaningful. Sometimes it's sitting at your desk on a Sunday night, surrounded by dirty laundry and not-even-started homework, kicking yourself, that makes life memorable. Not because you're sitting in your room surrounded by homework and laundry, but why you're there. Because the flour fights, snowball fights, laughs, bloody lips, and dirty dogs are what you'll remember for the rest of your life, and the rest of it doesn't matter. Because family and fun and memories and living are more important than getting an A on that test or going to bed before 1am.