Wherein follows an introspective rant to oneself:

It's not that I dislike visiting back home, what with the beautiful (and extremely allergy-inducing) atmosphere and the wide-open spaces, but every now and again, when visiting with old friends, I'm reminded so powerfully why I left home and assumed a new life with a renewed passion for the things I hold dear. It's not that there's anything inherently wrong with the ability to choose one's friends, but why some people continue to make the worst possible choices about their own lives by associating with the people that will do the worst harm to them socially, psychologically, and emotionally, is utterly beyond me. Perhaps that is simply the nature of the world; an unseen series of tiers, constructed in order to keep some people from associating with each other for any significant period of time. The unspoken reason why some relationships last as brief encounters while others are prolonged affairs, welcome or unwelcome. With each visit home I seem, invariably, to bump into a certain group of people, without fail, as if predestined. It is at this point that I come to my own dilemma. Why do I continue to visit the places that I know I will quickly come to dread, as if willingly stepping into a viper's nest and questioning whether or not treading on their territory will lead to an encounter. Isn't that the inverse definition of the scientific process? Trying the same thing multiple times and expecting different results? This begs the greater and more poignant question: Who is the bigger fool?