God, what an awful return home. Not that the flight was hideous; it wasn’t. Not that our bed wasn’t lovely; it was.
The awful bit is when you come to the new manager and the fact that it has taken less than a week for us to become a group of paranoid people: afraid of being seen in the lunch room lingering for a moment too long, afraid to have a conversation with the door open, afraid that any assignment is a ruse to trick you into betraying a weakness.
Miserable. Freaking miserable.