Sunday Morning Post (V.2, #51) - Did We or Didn’t We have 52 Sundays This Year?

As you may have noticed, I took to a new subtitle for this blog a few years back.  Years ago, I would write my entries during my lunch periods at work and then e-mail them home for final publication.  In the beginning I was writing 2-3 entries every week.  It made me feel good that I could be this productive at anything at that time of my life.  This went on for about 4 years. 

I got laid off from that job 10 years ago.  I was forced to write at home whenever I could find the time.  My production suffered since I could seldom find a good time to put my thoughts to a Word document.  There were other factors also involved.

I hit a writer’s block one year and I had to admit that the sudden lack of inspiration got the better of me.  This went on for several months.  I grew depressed because I could not think of an idea to write about.  I had a lot going on that year: my block came at about the same time as my mother was having her final illness.  I can’t say for sure if her situation upset me so much that it affected my writing, but if that was the case, then it was all in my subconscious. 

I finally settled on a specific time each week, Sunday morning, to work my blog.  It has proven to be the perfect time for blog writing for me.  I am not rushed to put anything on paper and then get ready for work on a Sunday.  I decided to rename my blog Sunday Morning Post, and began to enumerate the entries much like a magazine publisher would track their editions.

This rather large explanation is circling back to the title at the top of today’s entry.  It states 51, not 52.  This is the last Sunday of the year and I don’t believe I missed any weeks.  Aren’t we supposed to have 52 Sundays to coincide with the other weeks of the year?

Apparently, the answer is “no.”   I just checked the calendar and it only has 50 Sundays for 2020.  Well, no wonder 2020 proved to be such a kidney stone of a year.  It didn’t have all of the Sundays that other years might have.

Okay, so I didn’t miss any Sundays.  It turns out that I have another problem: I can no longer count up to 52!  Whew!  That’s a relief.

Anyway, we should take this opportunity to bid a fond farewell to 2020.

“Get the hell out of here, 2020!  You proved to be miserable to the entire world.  I thought 1968 was the worst with all of its political and cultural upheavals, but you certainly outdid 1968!”

Begone!  Amscray!  Don’t the calendar kick you in the ass on the way out!”

Now I feel better.

(Thank you for reading.  Here’s hoping that 2021 will be good for all of us, because we deserve it, damn it!)