It’s almost the end of the semester, and I booked a last-minute flight back home to Canada for five weeks. Thank heaven.
Around this time of year, I get fed up with everything Germany. I’m pissed off that my neighbours have been blasting the same fucking song since six in the morning (it’s now eight-thirty, by the by), I hate when people don’t know how to spread themselves out in a fucking tram when it’s crowded (hint: congregating around the doors is actually not the answer), and I’m sick of having to select my footwear based on the constant rain.
Logically, somewhere in the back of my brain, I remember that I still have it better here than I did in Canada, that it takes me about a year here to get fed up whereas the whole cycle only takes a month or two in Canada.
Still — who’s happy?! I’M HAPPY!!!
***Oh, and don’t bother attempting to rob my flat while I’m gone. I have people staying here to guard my heart and soul (you know, my dog… and house plants).***
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