Sundays

Sundays are really hard. It's the one morning of the week that I wake up, alone in the apartment except for the cat at the end of my bed who is always staring at me the minute I open my eyes. How long has he been staring at me? It's creepy.
Monday through Saturday, the thought of Sunday sounds delicious, full of hope, full of creativity, full of rest for this weary body that works 6 days a week.
Sunday is mine.
Sunday is supposed to be my day.
But Sunday is lonely.

I have grand plans through the week
"this Sunday I'm going to go for a walk around Powder Point"
"this Sunday I'll take my bike out and maybe ride across the bridge"
"this Sunday I'll go to "the studio".....
and what. what? what am I going to do there?
My paints are organized by size, waiting for me on a shelf
My paper is stacked veritcally, waiting for me on another shelf
And I spend every Sunday, ignoring the grand plans in my mind, and finding many reasons why I just can't do any of those things I dream of all week.

I think I'm stuck. I miss my children. I don't know how to just BE.
What is it going to take to get me going, back to that stack of unfinished paintings?