Life is stupidly repetitive. We are nailed to it, with no escape or compromise. We are like conditioners, forced to believe in what we are doing and to love repeating it. But how could we love a routine? Is there anything anew in it, other than what we did beforehand? Yes, we try to do it better, but what's the use? Better or worse, we are doing the same things! May be because of this roundabout route, we feel empty, some times and lonely, some other times. But isn’t loneliness too repetitive? What a joke.