A comma or a full stop… a world of difference.

sanjanakrish
2 days ago
3 min read

Updated: 20 hours ago

A personal piece about Sundays, overthinking, unconditional love, and finding ease in an ordinary life.

Another Sunday rolled around. I roused late from sleep to a warm, blue-skied day, the sun already up and shining brightly. After breezy days and grey January skies, February felt warmer, quietly hinting at the onset of an early summer. The rest of the household was blissfully asleep. My family—an eclectic, eccentric mix of beings. Three humans and, ahem, nine dogs. I stopped counting after six. Four of them are rescues and adoptions, and I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

It was the perfect day of the week to ponder over those little missing pieces that keep gnawing at you all through the week, like a tune stuck in your head. Some call it inertia, some Sunday languor. I just call it a well-deserved rest and recovery after six days of work, school runs, walking your dogs, and everything in between.

I made myself a cup of white chocolate and raspberry decaf black coffee and went downstairs to play with Godlie—such a doofus goofball he is. I finished my coffee and sat down in a chair with a book and pen in my hand to journal my thoughts, which naturally drifted to the goings-on of the week earlier. I thought about the conversations I had, my never-ending workdays, and the existential crisis of cramming physical activity into an already busy day.

There’s also the constant tug of guilt—doing one thing while thinking of another, wondering if time could have been spent better, more fully, closer to home, with your family. The quiet pull between worlds, between what ought to be and what is. And then, without meaning to, the layers begin to build. The whys and the what-ifs loop gently in the background: why calls went unreturned, messages unanswered, the gradual edging out to the fringes of relationships, the polished veneer of politeness on friendly faces. What if I were more outgoing, less restrained, younger perhaps…

Or am I imagining it all? Is it really sinister, or simply a coping mechanism in a world oversaturated with emotions and stimuli? I wonder at the complexity and fragility of human relationships. There are just too many commas punctuating every relationship. We let things remain status quo instead of pausing to ask ourselves—is it really worth it all?

Then I look at my retriever, gazing at me with baleful eyes, and I realise that dogs, on the other hand, are so much easier to understand. No masks. No filters. Nothing. No gaps in the sentences, no pauses midway—nada. I go back to playing fetch with my Goldie, thankful that Sundays are mostly about dogs and playing catch, pickleball evenings with my son, and coming back home to family, love, and the quiet act of building a brand and living an ordinary life.

This piece isn’t about commas.It’s about drift and slow acceptance — commas are just the lens.

Molecularly Yours,

Sanjana

Curiously Irrepressible

First dreamer. Accidental chemist @ Green Molecule - Clean Confidently