It’s time for me to leave Kuwait. Someone back in NZ has made me a very nice job offer, so I’m breaking my contract and heading home early. I’m looking forward to going home, but on the other hand I keep kicking myself every time I come downstairs to this:
Sigh – I’m trying to get in there for a swim every day until I go. Three weeks of this left, then it’s back to where you can hardly swim outside in summer, let alone winter. Ah well, at least I’ll get to work a lot harder for less money. Hmm, this makes less and less sense the more I think about it. Why do expats come home again? We must have some psychological illness or something.
