i used to hate sunday mornings.

for me, sundays tasted like catholic mass lectures and soccer games i would rather spend dancing. sundays were synonymous with chores and endings: daylight savings, sleeping in, and the weekend all coming to a close all within the same day.

as i grew older, sundays still remained a stale taste on my tongue. in college, they were a day dedicated to working and catching up on all of the work i neglected that entire past week.

they were also a day that existed in tandem with hangovers, sleeping in until 1 p.m., leftover dinner food for breakfast, and saying to myself “i really need to go grocery shopping.”

the main reason i hated sundays as i got older was because they were the reason saturday nights ended. saturday nights in college are nights for ludicrous actions with little consequences. nobody remembers saturday nights until midday sunday facetimes where you go, “i did what last night?!”

saturdays bring you away from reality, sundays bring you back to it. sunday mornings are narcs. sunday mornings are tattletales. and sunday mornings remind you that saturday nights have consequences.

last saturday, i was on my bullshit. i have recently become somewhat of an adult who wakes up early and works and does things like read books before bed, and eats things like crostini and yogurt and salad. but last saturday, i put adult julianna on the backburner and let that feral little gremlin inside of her loose for a night. and oh boy, did she let loose.

i went to newport beach with a group of friends, running on nothing but 2 redbulls, half a bottle of espolon, and a complete and utter lack of sleep. after the working week, i wanted to feel the rush of adolesence, of not having my life together. for a night, i wanted to pretend like i wasn’t working a 9-5 (or 6-2 PST, but you get it) and instead, i was some lost. twenty-something college kid who was falling with no trace of a safety net.

without sparing the details, i’ll answer you this: was i completely and irrevocably irresponsible? hell. yeah.

i swam in the pacific ocean at 3 in the morning and ate taco bell coated in diablo sauce and sand and stayed up until 5 in the morning tipsily talking to my friend on the pillow beside me. i wondered if i was going to get pneumonia from how cold i was and instantly reminded myself that i didn’t care if i did. and despite my throbbing headache and an entire week’s lack of sleep, i desperately clung to the moon, to saturday night.

“should we stay up until the sun rises?” she asked me.

i thought about it. an endless saturday, a sleepless night, a sunrise i could control. and that’s when i said something that shocked myself probably more than it shocked her:

“we should sleep. the sunrise isn’t going anywhere.”

then, we fell asleep in a sandy bed, minutes before the run rose, ending saturday night on sunday morning.

we woke up the next morning earlier than most sundays, but it was all the same regardless. we all were tired, hungry, hungover, and in desperate need of a shower. over upscale southern california brunch food, we sung a chorus of

“dude, remember when…”

“i did that?!”

“that was so funny…”

and,

“we gotta do this again.”

i got home and vegged out for the remainder of the night. i slept, watched euphoria with my boyfriend over facetime, and slept again after eating an entire pot of pasta by myself.

when the working week showed up, i was back to my routine. i woke up early, french pressed my coffee, ate eggs and packed a salad to go, and shifted my gears to responsible julianna for the next couple of days.

i think growing up is a lot like the transition between saturday and sunday: clinging onto the delicate thread of bars and parties and being twenty-something while also being pulled to early mornings and resting and the responsibility of being an adult.

i turn 22 next week (twenty two!) but i still feel like i’m eighteen. i’m wrapped in a security blanket, and it’s warm and safe, but i’m fearing i’ll become stifled by my own responsibility.

i’m in between saturday night and sunday morning: the hours where you lay awake and question whether you should sleep or stay up. the choice is mine whether to hold on and watch tequila sunrises, or to fall asleep and wait for sunday morning. and this weekend, i didn’t have to choose. my weekend fate was chosen for me.

friday night was supposed to be girls night. i got a migraine after a sake old fashioned and a trendy socal dinner and decided to call it a night (my outfit was killer, but it’ll make an appearance soon).

saturday (yesterday) came. and instead of hopping on my bullshit like the past few saturday nights, i facetimed my boyfriend and watched as he got all dressed up for a saturday night of his own.

for the first saturday in a pretty long slew of saturdays, i let myself rest. i ordered a pizza, ate some pie, watched a chick flick, and fell asleep at 11 p.m.

i woke up today (sunday) before my alarm feeling well rested and weirdly energized. i got up and went for a run. i washed my hair and put on jewelry and called my parents before writing at a coffee shop. and right now, i’m sitting with myself at my favorite sushi restaurant, feeling proud of my productivity, and of myself, today.

for the first time in a while, i’m enjoying my sunday morning. i’m enjoying responsibility, and i’m doing so with a cold japanese beer in my hand because i’m still saturday night at heart.

and i’m reminding myself that it’s okay to live in the in-between. to be both excited and terrified of growing up. to find balance in the uncertainty, find home in the unknown, and comfort in the time between saturday night and sunday morning.

after all, the sunrise isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. any maybe in a few weekends, i’ll stay up and watch it again like the twenty-something year-old i am.

but until then, i think i’ll try out this whole sunday morning thing for just a little bit longer.