I always thought the week started on Monday
Recently, I was surprised to find that I had always thought that next week started on Monday.
When someone pointed this out to me, I was amazed that I had managed to live to this age.
But I don’t think I’ve had any problems up until now.
It’s an excuse, but I’ve always felt that the week started on Monday, both when I was a student and when I was working, and the way we use the word weekend, which includes Sunday, is strange in the first place.
“Oh, tomorrow is Monday.”
On Sunday afternoon, people like me who didn’t want to go to school or work start thinking about what will happen from Monday, become pointlessly depressed, sigh repeatedly, and get stomachaches.
At one time, the term “Sazae-san syndrome” became popular, which means that when you hear the closing song of “Sazae-san,” you feel short of breath and can’t stop crying for some reason, but in my case, it was exactly that that happened when I watched “Waratte Iitomo” which was on earlier (5:30).
I can laugh until the first guest’s performance in the segment, but after the commercial break the comedy begins, and as the topics progress, my smile gradually stiffens and freezes, and instead of laughing I find myself sighing.
By the end I can’t even hear the voices of the Shoten members.
Perhaps it’s because I unconsciously don’t want to hear the host’s closing words, “That’s all for today’s Shoten.”
And when the show ends, I heave a deep sigh of deep sadness.
It’s not that I thought, “That was fun,” but rather that I feel a sense of despair that “Sunday is over.”
But it’s not that that Sunday was particularly fun. It’s not that anything good happened. But when I think about school and work from the next day, even these uneventful Sundays become very dear and I feel sad.
So even now, for me the start of the week is not Sunday, but Monday.
When I was a student. I don’t think there were many junior high school students who would sigh so loudly when they saw the weekly schedule posted up in the classroom.
I don’t watch Shoten much these days, but when I do happen to watch it, the opening music starts playing and I remember my school days and my chest reflexively hurts. I get short of breath.
That must be a kind of mini-PTSD. But people probably grow up enduring and enduring these mini-PTSDs little by little…instead of gaining “thickness” and “slowness,” maybe.
I haven’t heard much about “Shoten Syndrome,” but I feel like a lot of people understand it. Or maybe it’s just me.
“Listening to the music of practice at the Autumn Festival”
