It's Monday morning.
That wonderful time of the week when we collectively mourn the death of weekends past, while preparing, planning and plotting for the week ahead. I suppose that the attitude of a person on Monday morning could speak volumes about that persons position in life. Some wake up on Monday refreshed with a sense of excitement, unsure where the week may take them but hopeful that it will. Some probably wake up barely able to muster the strength to begin another week, knowing that this Monday will not be any different from the last, or the next.
For me, this Monday is unique. I suffer from Post-Party Syndrome. Right off the bat, allow me to admit that the clever euphimism is not a creation of my own. It is however, a jewel of wisdom gleamed from an esteemed official of the US Border Patrol, whose association with myself I will leave ambiguous.
"Post-Party Syndrom" (or PPS) is a fascinating part of the human condition. Its existence is based on the fact that all good things must at some point end. When we vacate ourselves from our routine we do so with excitement and anticipation that begins building long before we actually leave. The eve of our departure arrives and it seems that the world could not be a brighter place. On the horizon is a plethora of possibilities, none of which include anything work related. Whether our vacation lives up to our expectations, falls terribly short, or far exceeds them, it must eventually end. Inevitably reality catches up to us and demands that we plug back in.
And here I am.
With a bad case of "The Mondays" back to work after the holidays. It's almost as if the better the vacation, the worst P.P.S you suffer. Yet another example of the balance we cannot escape. For every action, there is an opposite and equal reaction.
Such is life.