Sunday Morning Coming Down

Last year, I hated Sundays. They were boring. They were full of unbrushed teeth and sweatpants
and chainsmoking. They're still full of those things.

I'm sitting around, mixing up crazy coffee drinks with powdered chestnuts and Nesquik and leche condensada with my roommates. We're complaining about how dirty the room is, how disgusting we all feel, how tired we are, and how quickly this weekend flew by. There's half-eaten food everywhere, we're having problems translating soup-making instructions from Norwegian to English, and there's a slow, Sunday kind of rain falling outside.

The difference is that this year, I feel like sitting here, laying around with my half-asleep best friends bitching about how the only coffee we have in the room is decaf...I feel like this, right here, is heaven.