I still believe that every weekend needs at least four days—one to recover, one to do fun things, one to do chores, and one to touch base with yourself, to write and read and do what matters most to your being and well-being.
Instead, everything gets jumbled together. Yesterday I added a few words to my Mallorcan mystery story, ate good salmon at a little sidewalk table at the nearest French café, listened to some favorite arias from Attila, dug out some papers I needed, and invented several types of Trifle for the British luncheon I'm preparing for the office on Tuesday. Today should be chores, but will probably be loafing and wishing for more time in a garden like this.
Have a dreamy Sunday, a restorative Sunday.