Dear Boredom,
You are a sore ass. You make my life miserable by making me count the hours, and the stretch is growing by the minute. You see, I'm stuck here in this lush greenery, where all I see are flags and people of worth, playing the boring game of golf. And here I am, after hitting on a burger and Sprite, still sitting here, watching these men play. I am a part of the small medical team sent here, you see. And guess who I am with? You!
Boredom, you are the master of all thieves. You take away a big chunk of my time doing nothing. You make me do crazy stuff, like writing this post using my phone. It is a chore, mister. I hate you and the life you are giving me. I do not want to be very busy either, but at the very least, cut me some slack. Help me not to be lethargic, to make my mind work. And it's best if you get out of my way. I am counting the hours to when I'll be going home. And isn't it too tiresome of a job to do?
Boredom, I think you should be heading home. And not to meet me again. Do not meet me ever again at ungodly hours, in my line of work, or even at home. Please do not screw my days, and I hope I'll never ever meet again your fat, stupid ass that's been doing nothing but making me sick. I hate you but please, on second thought, don't make me have too many patients either!
Meanwhile, I'm stuck here until these men become weary of their game. And I hope I'll get home sane, and do not meet me at the front door!
With all due respect,
Patrick
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