Oh Hale the Weekend!

So I am still at work... contemplating ways of taking a break from the monotonous typing... I decide to write out my next blog post. Similar to my previous post... the format is the mail I wrote out to my friends, followed my the post itself. Enjoy.

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Dear creatures…
Attached is an updated blog from the land of the dim-witted.
Enjoy
- Person from the dim-witted land
PS: I am in a weird mood… don’t ask… I think it is the lack of sugar.

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Right then, it is the weekend… and my right eye is red and watery after all PC staring. I am thoroughly bored from all the secretarial work given to me. No, I am grateful that I am not sitting in the middle of the room twiddling my thumbs but typing out 262 pages of tables from the Hazard and Effects Management Register is a pain. 52 pages down… infinity left to go.

It seems the burping situation in room 607 has increased exponentially. It was amusing at first (don’t ask me why), but now… I feel like puking. I swear it is like an orchestra. And I get the feeling that them gas balls are forced out, which is annoying me further. Moreover, people pretend as though it is like an everyday routine… no ‘Oops sorry for that’ or ‘excuse me’ or *cough cough* nothing that would depict a slight sense of proper comportment… just *burp* and *sounds of fingers hitting the keyboard*

I will be probably shifted from the 6th floor all the way down to the 4th. The funny thing is I exit The Room of Eternal Burps only to enter The Room of Eternal Stench. I guess it serves me right for making fun of Kaneeza’s pantry space. In my defense she sits on a drain… who can resist?!

Just when I thought I couldn’t get more stupid, I do something to prove my self wrong. In the morning today, I go to the first floor by stairs to drop of a tiny present for a friend. After running my little errand, I think to my self: ‘I walked one flight of stairs; I might as well climb another couple flights’. By the time I reached the 4th floor I wanted to shoot myself in the head. I reached the 6th floor panting as though I ran a 500 meter marathon. Anyhow, I walk the lobby partially dazed and partially thinking “Oh! You are so stupid” I reach my room and see Badar, my colleague, all nice and fresh.
With a friendly smile he says: “Kyia hal hai?” which I guess is “How are you?”
Me, still in agony from my dim-witted act, I say “I am panting”
The poor boy sat there staring and probably realizing that I am literary a freak of nature. I don’t blame him.

Note to self: Never listen to yourself. You end up conjuring ridiculous ideas and wind up wanting to hit yourself really hard so as to not repeat the same damn thing again.