Life after vacation does not exist. It is the void that you step into when you think there are no more stairs. There you are, falling into nothingness and there is no semblance of a floor that will not jar your joints into oblivion.
When you go on vacation, they always talk of the anticipation, the planning, the execution, the joy of returning to your own home and bed, and even the "jet lag" you may get even without switching time zones. What they fail to warn you of is the lack of motivation lasting for weeks afterward. The inability to comprehend not just falling back into your routine, but falling back into your life as it exists.
Who knew depression existed on the other side of fun?
When I returned that first night, I was so excited to get back into writing. And then the next day happened. I came home, and plodded through my evening, sat down to rest and relax, to eliminate the need to "do" anything. And did just that.
Eliminated doing anything. For days. Weeks. I existed. I slept, ate a little, worked, came home, existed, slept, ate a little, worked... and that was who I was.
Even my children seemed to fall into the routine of nothingness. Today, after missing my alarm because of all of our contagious nothingness, I arrived to work an hour and a half late and we all finally decided that this nothingness was dangerous. So we did something today. We did something this evening. We cleaned or cooked or even did a few crafts. And now, now I want to write.
It's been welling up inside of me. And once again, I find myself here, painting on a canvas that is no longer blank because I dared to splash it with color. I love this part.
