Sundays are lazy days, time to spend with your family, time to relax, time to catch up on what got left by the wayside during the week, and last but not least, time to do what you love. For a lot of us, this will mean sitting down somewhere comfortable and picking up that pen.
Write me at the Hotel Quintana, Pamplona, Spain. Or don't you like to write letters. I do because it's such a swell way to keep from working and yet feel you've done something.
Ernest Hemingway, Letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald (1 July 1925); published in Ernest Hemingway: Selected Letters 1917–1961(1981) edited by Carlos Baker (source)
Hemingway has a wonderful way with words, and this is no exception. Ernest certainly hit the nail on the head with this one - I'm sure quite a few of you will agree with me, here.
Which is why I bought a stack of postcards yesterday and am now in the process of writing actual, physical postcards to send to my nearest and dearest - this way I get to procrastinate, technically I'm still writing, AND it will make them smile to find a postcard in their mailbox rather than the stuff one usually gets (bills, advertisements and similarly unpleasant stuff).
When's the last time you wrote a letter, or postcard? Emails don't count!
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