Sundays depress me instantaneously.
Not that typical depression one once felt in the dooms and gloom of my High School years but a lingering; reflective depression.
Not that stress from a months procrastination on a 10 page essay or that gut-wrenching public presentation your mind has exaggerated into a last will and testament.
Recently, I've found slight solace in the smooth car drive down the hill from our towns quaint suburb. The roads absent of any rugged potholes or uprooted cement; just smooth asphalt and large fortresses with high privacy fences. Stay at home mothers, working fathers and spoiled pets roam the streets for an evening stroll as the sun eases it's outstretched rays.
I slightly gawk at the lavish yet mundane scheme of all of it as my hair blows in the wind and Lana Del Ray sings me the lullaby of my Summer. The hills curve drastically from left to right as my car naturally picks up momentum and coasts down through the sea of American flags surrounding the entrance.
I run through the light and frown as tomorrows, yesterdays and today's burdens hit me like a diamond in the rough.
Work. Finances. College. 'He'. Mom. Dad. Religion. God. Questions. Me...
The American Dream in all it's beauty and ironic fallacies.
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