A meaningful Sunday of nothingness

I awoke on Sunday to one of the most beautiful sights I have ever witnessed. We were in the midst of a real blizzard, greeted with the view of unrelenting snowfall as far as the eye could see in any direction.

The streets and cars were already blanketed under more than a foot of snow, covering New York with an unearthly purity which brimmed within me and swelled the heart.

Ilajna bounded into my room, and we stuck our faces to the large window in silenced awe. Neither of us could bring ourselves to leave the sight, so I phoned Azdadoobie from my room. "Doobs get over here and check out the view," I urged, and soon a sleepy Azdadoobie trudged into the room too.

It wasn't long before the three of us were seated round our dining table sipping cups of chai, as has become our customary Sunday morning ritual. Each Sunday commences with a round table breakfast conversation, which, before we know it, stretches to lunch and then dinner, and all of a sudden we realise its time for bed and we haven't actually moved from the table all day. Not to mention the chores which still lie untouched.

In a vain attempt to pretend these idled hours are made up of substantial and meaningful discussion, we started a new notebook of our discussions: "The Breakfast Club: The Book of Secret Lists".

And in this book we've started listing all the the important facts of life:
- the kind of people we hate (eg aggressive people; and know-it-alls; and girls who act dumb)
- movies we have to (re-)watch (eg Love Actually; and About a Boy; and Kissing Jessica Stein)
- new bars tried and liked

When we ran out of ideas we kept the book aside and trundled to Azdadoobie's room to watch a movie. "We'll continue on the book next Sunday," we agreed.