Random Crap

Photo Credit: postsecret.blogspot.com

It's a weekend here in Qatar (Fridays, Saturdays are offs), and here I am, sitting in my blue tracks, red Tee, in my office, blogging about it!!!!
God, unbelievable.
Why am I here? What am I doing? No clue... nothing. Where do I wanna go? What am I searching for? I wish I knew.
Had I been back home I'd probably be surrounded with intoxicated people right now, tripping on some rock music.
I'd probably be texting my ex-girlfriends telling rhem how much I miss them. Actually telling each one of them that I miss them, one after the other, and actually actually really missing them, all of them.
Funny eh?
I'd probably still be looking, soon after sending those messages, if I'd find the one I could love. The one I could wake up with. The one I could joke around with, stand in front of her naked without being least ashamed of my nudity.
I'd probably drive back home, totally sloshed, and just pass out. Or go to the Marriott Hotel and have a luxurious meal (Fish and Chips). I'd probably be getting phone calls after phone calls from my ex girlfriends telling me to shut the fuck up and try the stunt somewhere else.
I'd then probably message them more after that coz I'd be angry that they didn't like the fact that i messaged them, so what if it was two in the morning. So I'd piss them off even more.
I'd probably (most definitely) pass out after that. Probably my mom woud enter my room at five in the morning and see me sleeping with my feet on the wall, or sleeping on my knees (Namaz position)...
I'd probably then wake up with a terrible terrible hang over and not be able to sleep again after that. I'd probably switch on the television, and watch some crappy movie which come at 6 am on star movies or HBO.
I'd probably be wondering what the fuck am I doing with my life. I'd probably be wondering there was a time I was so happy, and I messed up... completely.
I'd probably light a cigarette. Probably my father would walk in and say "Subah Subah... jogging karne ke bajaye cigarette peelo," in an irritated tone.
I'd probably just ignore him, and think to myself, Man I wanna get out of this place. I wanna run away.
I'd probably sleep for a bit again and then wake up late for work and still not give a damn. I'd probably put on my torn jeans and a T and then drive to work, thinking, I wish a truck rams me from behind and my car takes a 180 turn on the road and then another truck just runs over me completely. And I go away from here.
I'd probably be day dreaming about that and hit a cycle waala in front of me.
I'd probably get to work and chat on the net. I'd probably think, there was a time when I was considered a Toofan in journalism, and now, a laid back, lazy man, who doesn't want to work hard to break any story.
I'd probably be applying for bartending jobs in Seychelles or Pattaya.
I'd probably not eat lunch because I'd just be too lazy to walk down or up (depending which company I am working for then) to the cafe.
I'd probably lose my appetite by the time it's four.
I'd probably make a call to my source, or some source would call me and give me a story, and I'd write it. It would probably be an exclusive because my sources are just amazing.
I'd probably write the story in exactly 10 minutes and send it to the desk. I'd probably then read the story over and say, "Crap."
I'd probably shut the computer off then and drive back home, thinking, I wish a truck rams me and my car takes a 180 on the road and another truck comes and runs over me completely.
I'd probably hit a scooter waala this time and he'd probably ask me to pull over and ask for an explanation or abuse the shit out of me. I'd probably just hear quietly and then when he'd shut up I'd show him my middle finger and zoom away. He'd probably try and chase me for a bit, but I'd probably just find a round about in central Delhi and just go round and round that till the time the scooter waala's head starts spinning and he stops for a break looking at me wondering, Kaisa paagal aadmi hai saala.
I'd probably wave good bye and drive off again. I'd probably reach home and soon go for a bath (bath's unlikely). I'd probably change my torn jeans and put on another pair of torn ones and then go to Turquoise Cottage and start drinking before anyone's arrived. People would probably start entering by 9 pm, and I'd probably then smoke a J and start tripping on the floor. Probably lotsa eyes would stare at me. probably lotsa people would come up to me and tell me I dance well, or that they've seen me there often. We'd probably then start having a conversation. I'd probably soon try and ignore them because they'd be spoiling my trip by saying, "YOU DO DRUGS!!!!!"
I'd probably just stop listening to them and start tripping again.
I'd probably get smashed by the time it's 11.30, and then I'd start messaging my ex-girlfriends again.
Well... but whatever. I'm not there. I'm here, in Qatar now. Living life, without alcohol, without a cell phone, and without a car.
I like it here. It's fun.