B-O-R-E-D

What the hell do you write about when you're as bored as I am?

Crap, I guess.

Saw that movie, the re-make, Zinda? Imagine a guy, being locked up in a room, with a bed, a TV, and the exact same food for breaki, lunch and dinner for 14 fucking years.

I feel like that guy, and I swear by Christ I am not exxagurating.

My life hasn't changed a single bit in the past one year. I don't even feel that a year has gone by.

A year used to be so long man. I mean, a year changed you as a person so much, times changed, things changed, life changed... completely and utterly. Utterly?

Whatever.

Every single day in Qatar over the past one year has been exactly like the previous one, give or take a few depending on how drunk I got during the nights, which doesn't really make a difference either because I anyway don't remember half of those nights.

I wake up, change, come to office, write a story, go to the gym, come back to office, chat or surf or blog, go to a bar, drink, go back home, pass out.

This is precisely how I must describe the past one year of my life. Because it's the truth.

In other countries, things happen. Things happen on their own to give you that tad bit of excitement you need in your life every day because there's life. There's a little bit of competition, a little bit of struggle, a little bit of rivalry, and a FUCKING LITTLE BIT OF NON-POT-BELLIED-NON-OVER-FIFTY-SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED DRUNK WESTERNERS-LOOKING FOR PROSTITUTES IN BARS!

I decided I'll stop going to bars. It's boring after all - bars in Qatar. All of them. There's precisely one good one, where there are a few chances of you meeting someone nice, someone who doesn't charge money to sleep with you - The Pearl - which expects you to wear a suit to come inside. I mean come on... give me a god damn break! They don't allow men inside with jeans. You gotta be dressed formally, and you gotta be kidding me!

What is this? Gladrags!

What the hell do you do?

I go home watch DVDs have the same god damn food I ate the previous day, due to shortage of restaurants that are Non-Mallu-Putting-Coconut-In-Everything, and crash.

What do you do if not go to a bar and drink yourself silly?

I wish I enjoyed talking. I wish I enjoyed making friends. I wish I could talk on the phone for hours. I wish I enjoyed reading.

I wish I wasn't me.

Else I wish I had the balls to pack and leave. I don't.

I'm fucked.

Fucked in Qatar, in every sense save literally.

Lord, have mercy!