Thank you my heart,
I woke up again and even thought is Sunday,
the day of rest,
the usual preholiday rush,
continues underneath my ribs.
W. Szymborska (To My Heart, On Sunday)
The poem by the Polish poetess suggests us to deal with this ‘fear of the day of rest’ listening to our feelings, saying thank you to our heart’s pulp, ‘cause it keeps us alive.
This can be a possible answer to what Viktor E. Frankl, in his book ‘Man’s Search For Meaning‘, calls it “Sunday neurosis’ , identifying it as:
“that kind of depression which afflict people who become aware of the lack of content in their lives when the rush of the busy week is over and the void within themselves becomes manifest”
… How do you feel? Can you hear it?