What a bloody drag.
You know, there are very few other feelings more depressing than this one. Coming back home from holidays.
I mean, it doesn't matter where you're landing, be it your home country or the place you're residing in at the moment, it sucks really bad.
I know it, I've been there.
I have made my home in several different places, and no matter where it is that I live at the time, when I come back from holidays I just feel limp, I'm as motivated as a plank of wood, and I always feel that I am coming back to the worst place on the planet. Like there is absolutely no worse place to live in the world!...
Everyone around me seems so unbelievably dull, cheap and common. It really makes me sick, especially when everyone is talking loudly at the airports and chirping and chatting and what not and you just want to start throwing slaps around like there's no tomorrow. And start shouting like a raving mad man while hopelessly waiting for something really heavy to fall on your head so that you wake up somewhere else.
Anywhere but there, with all those tiresome creatures happy to arrive back to the mud.
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