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Actually, it's still Saturday, but for the sake of my ridiculous whining, we're going to go through the motions as if today was Sunday. Like with that movie "Orange County," Sunday isn't only a day, but it's a feeling, a state of mind. Sunday is a day of the weekend, a day off from work or school. Why, then, do I wake up every Sunday morning like I wake up on a Monday? I wonder if this is different for those who go to church. All my life I haven't went to church, and a Sunday could be defined as 24 hours of dreadfully anticipating the bull**** of Monday mornings. There's a certain way the sky looks on a Sunday; the cereal box is closed differently at the top; and, of course, the milk is spoiled and all the spoons are in the ****ing dishwasher, having yet to be cleansed by the touch of detergent. If you want to be poetic, a Sunday is like eating a bowl of cereal with a fork.