I have a feeling that when I look back on my Skidmore life, Sundays will be what I’ll remember most fondly. A Skidmore Sunday is special, alternately anxious and dreamy, usually revolving around coffee and light naps and wide wooden library tables. Sunday is when you catch up on all the work you said you were going to do on Saturday but didn’t do because you decided to watch ten straight episodes of Boy Meets World with your friends instead. Sunday is when you go to Burgess Café and get a large Pumpkin Spice coffee and eight packets of sugar. Sunday is when you hit the library unshowered in a flannel shirt and sweatpants, dragging a backpack full of Shakespeare and sociology up the stairs like you’re Sisyphus on the hill. Sunday is when you write astounding amounts of a paper in record speeds only to follow it up with a silent Skype chat with your best friend at a different school. Sundays are pleasant and exhausting.
When I lived in the res halls freshman and sophomore year, my Sunday routine was set. I’d wake up too late, scarf scrambled eggs in d-hall, then hole up in Scribner Library for the next five hours until the dinner hour arrived. D-hall (that’s what we call the dining hall, seeing as “Murray-Aikens” and “the dining hall” both have too many syllables) has a pretty great track record for serving sushi on Sunday nights, so after six pieces of California roll and a trip to the Sunday Sundae table (that’s right — buckets of ice cream, zillions of toppings) it was back to the library. Late-night — the period of time between 8pm and 11pm during which all kinds of fried and cheesy goodies are up for grabs at d-hall — was optional but preferred. My Sundays were long bouts of schoolwork punctuated by meals. It was awesome.
Now I no longer have an unlimited meal plan, so d-hall doesn’t have much of a place in my Sunday, but the same relaxed, overtired, work-stimulated mood persists. They aren’t Sundays, they’re Sun-dazed. Everyone’s tired, still in pajamas sometimes, nodding to each other. “How was your weekend?” Sundays have a wonderful progression of time. I can finish reading a novel for class, catch up on the news, outline an essay, read a few classmates’ short stories for fiction workshop and still have time to go to my friend’s house off-campus for chocolate cake and the new Family Guy episode. Sundays are wide swaths of space for both work and play. Monday’s due dates loom, but I still float through the day like one of the Frisbees whizzing softly across the green. Skidmore Sundays are special because they make the busy weeks worth it.