So I'm finally back home. It's...different. So much more stress and worry and shit. Kinda makes me want to move back to Europe. But, I guess it's still good in its own way. Familiar - friends, family, places. It's good to be surrounded by things you know. But I know I'm going to have to get back to Europe again. There are so many places I didn't get to see while I was there. But then I think, well, there are so many places I haven't been here, either.
I'm also restless here. Like, in Ireland I wouldn't care if I spent a day in my room writing. But here, it's as though I can't focus on one thing. I start writing then I get bored and open a book and then after a few pages I turn on the TV. Then I go back to writing. It's terrible. I'm hoping it's just my creativity trying to settle from being jostled.
Ah, well.
Later days.