Post Vacation Stress Disorder, and its close-cousin, Post Vacation Blues.
You had days, or even weeks, of bliss. Fun, relaxation, freedom. You ate like calories are warm fuzzies of which there are never enough and they can't hurt you. You drank like a college kid who just turned 21. You spent like The Rich and Famous. You slept until you damn well felt like getting up, and stayed up as late as you wanted because you could sleep until the crack of noon the next day.
You wore clothes that felt good, maybe you strolled barefoot in the sand. Lounged around by the pool with cocktails sporting fresh fruit and parasols being brought to by just a lift of your hand. Or maybe you sat on the porch, sipping huckleberry wine and watching the deer stroll by with their little fawns right behind them.
And then it's over. Back to the suits and stilettos, ringing phones, deadlines, demands, alarm clocks and bathroom scales...all of which scold you mercilessly for your days of misbehavior. Sometimes, you left cool and green and came back to blazing hot and dry. It's enough to make you want to remove one of those stilettos and drive it into the temple of anyone who crosses you (and an innocent bystander or two, just for good measure.)
Post Vacation Stress Disorder.
Maybe you love your home and your job, and coming back isn't a trauma. But, oh, the vacation lifestyle. If only you could be as easy-breezy and still be doing your job and living in your own happy home. It makes you feel just a little sad, doesn't it? Post Vacation Blues.
I was bitching about this very thing to my dear friend and colleague. I had two weeks of mountain living, reading, writing, sleeping late and watching movies in bed and eating like whatserface from the Hunger Games. Oh, and drinking more than my share of huckleberry wine. Now I'm back in the real world. Even though my colleagues are the most awesome thing since bacon-wrapped scallops and totally took care of everything, it's still a lot to come back to. So I was bitching.
My sweet, patient, warm and encouraging friend got a glazed look in her eye. (Yeah, me being gone means extra work for her, too.) Her face got red and shiny and her hair started to frizz from the heat she was generating. She smiled like the shark in Jaws, eyes shooting flames. Thank heaven she doesn't wear stilettos or I'd have one in my temple right now.
Pre-Vacation Syndrome. It's what's for dinner.
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