Eastward...or am I?

Where to begin? With a word, perhaps? But which one? Insanity? Frustration? Boredom? Adventure? Decay? All of these are apropos, but all fall short of the mark. A Haiku then? Holy city, drunk:Cultures clashing within me:Antibiotics...Hmmm, closer, but missing the essence of the beast.

Forgive me, I sit, half a world away from home, with a penchant for melodrama and a mind still cloudy from last night's drink. It is Christmas day, and there is no snow to be seen. On this holiday which I typically scorn, I find myself quite affected to be so distant from all that is familiar. India is wearing me down. At times, I seem to be suffocating on the combined stench of feces and burnt refuse; more disturbing, at other times I fail to notice it. My frustration builds at the inefficiency I observe all around me; yet I find myself becoming less and less inclined to accomplish any task. How does one cope with working in a society that has a word for the day after the day after tomorrow? Do not mistake me, all is not doom and gloom. I have the fortune to be surrounded by wonderful people, with whom I've become fast friends. I am gainfully employed, relatively healthy, and have the occasional opportunity to explore a mysterious and beautiful land. I am more than thankful for all these blessings, and yet can not overcome a certain melancholy. I think, perhaps, that my nature simply does not allow me to be content in idleness. I will have to find a constructive outlet for my energies before I turn to serious alcoholism or self-flagellation.