I always got moody on Sunday afternoons when I woke up from a long nap and it was already dark outside, as if I had wasted the only Sunday of my life. I had a hunch that six years of elementary school was really an escalator with a starting point but no end. I told my mom I couldn’t picture myself in junior high or high school. She was appalled, taking my comments as a fatalistic premonition of premature death.