I hate Sundays. The quaint image of the big lunch after a lazy morning is no more when you are engaged to a football freak. 9am to 10pm is spent with the TV blaring, various men traipsing in and out of our living room, eating our food, drinking our beer, leaving their dishes where ever they may lay.  They track dirt onto my (somewhat) clean floors and spray piss on my recently cleaned toilets.

My fiance is glued to the television. Not hell or high-water could drag him away or distract him from one of the gazillion games in front of his face. He is useless on this day. "This is work" he claims, which has some legitimacy because he does make money playing Daily Fantasy Sports. But, my rebuttal is that watching the games has no effect on the outcome.

Because I work strange hours, Sundays must count for a day to get shit done. Clean house, do laundry, cook meals for the week, etc. I find this incredibly hard to do with a half-dozen football frenzied men occupying my space. We are looking into buying a house so he can have a man-cave and I can continue to have my personal space on Sundays. Our house right now has exactly one living space and an open loft, which does nothing for noise control.

I don't get to sit on my couch on Sundays. I don't get to relax because SOMEONE has to host these people and Tom has made it very clear that it won't be him. I don't necessarily mind doing this, I just wish I could retreat to a safe haven after the game that I care about is over so I can get my own stuff done with.

I am disappointed and frustrated by Sundays which is exaggerated by the memories of the comfortable lazy Sunday I hold so dear in my heart. Compounded by the fact that I have go to work tomorrow to a job that I don't like and I have another 5 days until another chance at a weekend.