There are few things I can say right now.

Except that the weather has caught me off guard; it's pretty pleasant for a Bombay afternoon.
And that my bed is a sea of disconnected things, like phones and bedsheets and demure books hiding behind pillows.

The Sunday is what it usually is - lazy but restless, comfortable but painfully lethargic.
Nothing I can do will change that.

There are few things to say.
The afternoon is slipping from under me and I know that in a second it'll be dark outside. 

Lazy Sundays where you never really get off the bed.
The sheets tangle up in small heaps at the corners and you watch show after show on your laptop, your eyes half open and the sun shut away by thick curtains.

The only time you drag yourself out of bed is to make trips to the kitchen and the bathroom. Even those you race through so that you can get back in the warm comfort of the mattress as soon as possible.

The times both flies and crawls. The room becomes warmer and then eventually colder. The light outside drops and the yellow harsh bulbs crop up, like unwanted cops at a party.

It's soon time to sleep and all you have to do is roll over, shut the lid of the laptop and close your eyes.