There’s a great song by Kris Kristofferson called “Sunday Morning Coming Down.”
On the Sunday morning sidewalk,
Wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
‘Cos there’s something in a Sunday,
Makes a body feel alone.
And there’s nothin’ short of dyin’,
Half as lonesome as the sound,
On the sleepin’ city sidewalks:
Sunday mornin’ comin’ down.
I don’t know that I wish that I was stoned but I do spend a great deal of time lately doing nothing at all. I can’t seem to find my passion … I mean I think I know my passion which is what I’m doing at this moment — writing — but some how instead I spend a lot of time just laying on the couch watching movies or television and doing nothing.
I guess that’s what Sundays do to a person. Maybe it’s because even for us heathens there’s a feeling we should be examining our lives whether it’s in a church or in your bed.
(Oops shiny object tour — I live in an urban area just about a mile from downtown Minneapolis and by three large historic churches and I can hear the bells ringing from one of the churches. I love that sound.)
I do get sidetracked a lot. Anyways, I need to do something to get that passion back into my life, because a passionless life is, to borrow Kris’ words, “nothin’ short of dyin’.”
Okay … that was pretty heavy … one of those days. Maybe I need more Cymbalta. I think there should be a new reality show called UP YOUR DOSAGE where people come one, complain about their lives, and then the panelists decide where or not to UP YOUR DOSAGE. It’s like when Suzi Orman decides whether or not you are approved to buy new underwear.