It's a Sunday evening and invariably all Sunday evenings leave me a little sad. They don;t have the promise of a Friday evening, when you are looking forward to two days of uninterrupted laziness and bliss. Or the relief of a Saturday evening, where even though you've spent half of your weekend, you still have the other half to look forward to. Sunday evenings, unless they are showing a Shah movie, are just plain boring. I got a lot done this Sunday though. Slept, cooked, read (a lot), and now with this post, would have written as well. Thanks to no eggs in the fridge, I haven't been able to bake. And maybe that's why there is this incomplete feeling to this Sunday. Or maybe because life took me back a few months for a few hours yesterday, I feel like I am living this dream, or nightmare, that might get over anytime soon, propelling me without prior warning to the predictable routine that life has now become. Yesterday I went out with a friend for Christmas shoppi...