Sunday Morning, 7:30 a.m.
I wake up to a single beam of light on my face. The ray has somehow escaped through the curtain of clouds and the wall of books at my window. I watch the specks of dust, suspended, with my eyes half closed. Somehow in that state, with all the glitter and shine, I almost believe it to be fairy dust. It is a typical winter morning. You can lick the frost off the window sill. The thought of having to step out of the warm blanket is almost unbearable. The clock reads 7:30. This is early for a Sunday. Too early.
I reach over to my right side, trying to locate my mobile phone. Maybe I could stay in for a couple of minutes more and do a crossword puzzle. Or maybe I could just stay in, the whole day. My bed is my universe. My laptop within close reach. The window sill, a comfortable shelf with all readable books stocked. And side tables spilling with all important things within my arm's reach. What more could i possibly need on a Sunday. A growl. Ah yes! Breakfast! That's what I have to get out for. If only...
With sloth like movements and even weaker will power, I somehow separate myself from my bed. I am still holding onto my blanket, draped haphazardly over my shoulders. Just a cup of warm milk should be enough for now. Maybe later I'll attempt at making brunch. Sunday brunches are perfect. Late enough for you to skip lunch and early enough to cover up for the missing breakfast. I drag myself to kitchen and open the refrigerator. I have ten things penned and magnetically held on the door. My "to-do" list for weekends. They have been there for a while now. Another hundred of such lists are scattered all around in my head. Every once in while one pops up and gives me an awakening jolt. I seemed to have arrived at state of mildness. The jolts are less frequent and less earth shattering. Slow and steady wins the race seems like my motto in life right now...
Microwave beeps in the background. I'm continue staring at my refrigerator door. There are fridge magnets from all the places I visited during summer. A hazy fast paced part of the year which somehow passed me by. A sudden shiver up my spine, I clutch at the blanket. A draft. Of cold wind? At home? Or maybe a sudden realisation. What if summer never came again? What if I'm stuck in this frost covered, white and grey landscape? No, that was definitely a shudder of restlessness. My mind is giving me a jolt again.
.........
A rumble this time. My milk is cold again. What was I trying to do, thinking of the impossible. Of course the summer will be here again. In six months, I will be cursing the scorching sun and infinite daylight. For now, warm milk. I restart the microwave again. As it purrs in the corner, I scavenge for cookies from a nearby tin. Ah! the delight of settling back into the warm bed and pile of pillows. Contemplatively, I promise to watch only one episode of the recent trash on Netflix I'm addicted to. It stimulates nothing but laziness in me. Thus trash. But one episode couldn't do me any harm. After this I shall read, write, sketch, make brunch, step out if the sun does and take a walk. A happy and relaxed Sunday. A perfect Sunday.
A sudden pang of hunger again. Did I not just have milk? I look at the clock which reads 2:00 p.m.. I just spent the morning watching uncountable episodes of trash on Netflix. I curse myself and get out of bed. With no patience to cook now, I hunt for easy food. Plop slices of bread on a plate, butter them, heat left over soup from last night. Walking back I decide to watch another episode just while I eat. After that, a walk. Maybe the supermarket to stock up my kitchen. Oooh! I could bake a cake.
.........
The bread and soup is long gone. I've now succumbed to warmth of my bed and let go of my plans for the day. It is 6:00 p.m. and the world has accepted defeat, giving itself up to the darkness. The night yields its sword suddenly and sharply these days. There is no warning of sunset colours and golden sky, just a sudden onset of midnight blackness. So many plans for the day, but the day just passed me by while I hibernate in tiny universe of my bed. With no fight left in me, I give in to continue binge watching Netflix and its cousins. All plans for baking or cooking abandoned at the sight of white mist outside my window. I never did have a chance of winning.
Next Sunday... I shall not let the sacrifice of this Sunday go in vain. The next Sunday shall see the fruits of my labour. I will cook, read, write, sketch, walk. Or at the least attempt two of the aforementioned activities. Fighting the will to hibernate.
But... what if... Well, there always will be a next Sunday.
I wake up to a single beam of light on my face. The ray has somehow escaped through the curtain of clouds and the wall of books at my window. I watch the specks of dust, suspended, with my eyes half closed. Somehow in that state, with all the glitter and shine, I almost believe it to be fairy dust. It is a typical winter morning. You can lick the frost off the window sill. The thought of having to step out of the warm blanket is almost unbearable. The clock reads 7:30. This is early for a Sunday. Too early.
I reach over to my right side, trying to locate my mobile phone. Maybe I could stay in for a couple of minutes more and do a crossword puzzle. Or maybe I could just stay in, the whole day. My bed is my universe. My laptop within close reach. The window sill, a comfortable shelf with all readable books stocked. And side tables spilling with all important things within my arm's reach. What more could i possibly need on a Sunday. A growl. Ah yes! Breakfast! That's what I have to get out for. If only...
With sloth like movements and even weaker will power, I somehow separate myself from my bed. I am still holding onto my blanket, draped haphazardly over my shoulders. Just a cup of warm milk should be enough for now. Maybe later I'll attempt at making brunch. Sunday brunches are perfect. Late enough for you to skip lunch and early enough to cover up for the missing breakfast. I drag myself to kitchen and open the refrigerator. I have ten things penned and magnetically held on the door. My "to-do" list for weekends. They have been there for a while now. Another hundred of such lists are scattered all around in my head. Every once in while one pops up and gives me an awakening jolt. I seemed to have arrived at state of mildness. The jolts are less frequent and less earth shattering. Slow and steady wins the race seems like my motto in life right now...
Microwave beeps in the background. I'm continue staring at my refrigerator door. There are fridge magnets from all the places I visited during summer. A hazy fast paced part of the year which somehow passed me by. A sudden shiver up my spine, I clutch at the blanket. A draft. Of cold wind? At home? Or maybe a sudden realisation. What if summer never came again? What if I'm stuck in this frost covered, white and grey landscape? No, that was definitely a shudder of restlessness. My mind is giving me a jolt again.
.........
A rumble this time. My milk is cold again. What was I trying to do, thinking of the impossible. Of course the summer will be here again. In six months, I will be cursing the scorching sun and infinite daylight. For now, warm milk. I restart the microwave again. As it purrs in the corner, I scavenge for cookies from a nearby tin. Ah! the delight of settling back into the warm bed and pile of pillows. Contemplatively, I promise to watch only one episode of the recent trash on Netflix I'm addicted to. It stimulates nothing but laziness in me. Thus trash. But one episode couldn't do me any harm. After this I shall read, write, sketch, make brunch, step out if the sun does and take a walk. A happy and relaxed Sunday. A perfect Sunday.
A sudden pang of hunger again. Did I not just have milk? I look at the clock which reads 2:00 p.m.. I just spent the morning watching uncountable episodes of trash on Netflix. I curse myself and get out of bed. With no patience to cook now, I hunt for easy food. Plop slices of bread on a plate, butter them, heat left over soup from last night. Walking back I decide to watch another episode just while I eat. After that, a walk. Maybe the supermarket to stock up my kitchen. Oooh! I could bake a cake.
.........
The bread and soup is long gone. I've now succumbed to warmth of my bed and let go of my plans for the day. It is 6:00 p.m. and the world has accepted defeat, giving itself up to the darkness. The night yields its sword suddenly and sharply these days. There is no warning of sunset colours and golden sky, just a sudden onset of midnight blackness. So many plans for the day, but the day just passed me by while I hibernate in tiny universe of my bed. With no fight left in me, I give in to continue binge watching Netflix and its cousins. All plans for baking or cooking abandoned at the sight of white mist outside my window. I never did have a chance of winning.
Next Sunday... I shall not let the sacrifice of this Sunday go in vain. The next Sunday shall see the fruits of my labour. I will cook, read, write, sketch, walk. Or at the least attempt two of the aforementioned activities. Fighting the will to hibernate.
But... what if... Well, there always will be a next Sunday.
Comments
Post a Comment