The curtains in my flat don't block out the light.
The trains wake me up at all hours.
I feel like crap.
The washing machine leaves big patches of linty stuff (probably dead skin or fluff or both) on my clothes.
It travels around the kitchen as it cleans.
The kitchen is shit.
The knives are all blunt.
The ants are invading.
The television is tiny.
I don't have enough personal space in a tiny flat.
I miss my home.
I miss my cats.
I miss my significant other.
I miss decent take-away. Well, better take-away.
I miss shopping on Sundays.
The bogans who live behind us have too many babies at whom they swear when they won't stop crying. (Parenting tip: Screaming "Shut up you little fucker!" at your baby will not lull it to sleep, no matter how many times you repeat it.)
The bogans have too much bad music.
The bogans play their music FAR too loudly. I have to close the windows on that side of the building. Thus, I get no breeze through the flat.
I feel like shit.
I have had enough and I want to go home.
Not in three weeks.