However it’s now time to go back. And my commitment to retro fashion is worn heavy around my stomach, as the nausea of first-day-back blues rears its ugly head. From what my Mum tells me, this has been a habit of mine since pre-school; it’s probably the reason I was 2 weeks late coming into the world. It is a regular reminder, along with compulsions to giggle at fart jokes and tease my little brother, that adulthood is merely a figment of the imagination against the vivid green-screen of childhood tradition and habit.
Every holiday ends with an abrupt feeling of impending doom that has no real logic to it, except that not working/going to school is preferable to working/being at school. I know pragmatically that work will be fine, perhaps even good, but emotionally my soul is crying out to escape this fate with a tummy ache and pouty face.
I chose the picture above because I have made New Year’s resolutions, one of which is to try and run home from work more often, and I am resolved to get up tomorrow and face the day with a smile on my face. But I’m pretty sure I’ll instead be fighting the desire to put my head back under the warm duvet because I think it might rain, especially after all that lovely metaphorical sun.