"Nothing in the world arrived faster than a Monday morning. Its alarm seemed triggered by your eyelids...."
Sunday nights. They always had depression built into them. They were the end of looking forward to stuff, and the beginning of another long week of scholastic dread. No more staying up late and sleeping in. No more the man of leisure. No more watching WWF wrestling past midnight. Nothing in the world arrived faster than a Monday morning. Its alarm seemed triggered by your eyelids.
Mondays always dawned grey and cold with the sudden realization that since you blew if off completely, you now had to do all your weekend homework on the bus. The attempt of the hot washcloth on your forehead didn't fool your mother yet again. Did this ever work? For anybody? Or was it just some urban legend?
The nuns seem oblivious to days of the week. Or hours of the day. Or fevers of any kind. They never missed a day. Nuns always looked and acted the same. We were not sure if nuns even did weekend things. We never saw them out and about anywhere. Grocery stores. Restaurants. The movies. All these places were nun free. When you arrived at school they were there. When you left school they were there. Monday mornings didn't find them any more or less miserable than they were on Friday afternoons. Somehow they traveled back and forth to the "convent", which was a real place because it was across the street. But nobody ever saw a nun walk from the convent to the school or the school to the convent. It was like they travelled through underground tunnels.