I usually get a bad case of what my family calls "SundayNightItis," every, oh, Sunday night or so. Which is to say that the last sliver of my weekend is taken up with getting in a funk about needing to go back to work on Monday. I stomp around, snap at Michael, and whine about not knowing how to spend those precious last hours before a week of stress and chaos begin.
So it makes sense that after having almost a week and a half off from work for vacation in the mountains, my SundayNightItis set in around Saturday afternoon. The grief I have over the end of a vacation has moved me through stages, much like the ones made famous by Elizabeth Kubler Ross, a psyciatrist that speicalized in death and dying. You'll have to excuse my seemingly overdramatic analogy; I work in hospice- my perspective is always a little, um, weird. So my weekend went a little like this:
Denial- sometime around Thursday afternoon, in the airport: Nothing to fret about, we're just taking another little plane ride. Work isn't until Monday. We still have practially half a week before I need to think about being busy. In fact, if sudden severe weather hits and demolishes the Glacier Park Airport, we just might never get out of here for like, weeks. Maybe we should call the cabin office and re-book for another week just in case.
Anger- Saturday afternoon through the rest of the night- No severe weather, in Montana at least. Sure, we had storms here at home. Why couldn't they interfere with our flights before we left? Dang-it, we only have one day left. We've already swept the floor three times, done two loads of laundry, three loads of dishes, and I need a nap. I want a nap now! Why aren't there mountains outside of my windows? And where are the trees? Wait, was that a mountain goat I just saw out the window? Oh, I guess it was just the neighbor's dog...The air stinks here. The TV is too loud. Where is my babbling stream? Can someone tell those cars outside to go away? They're disturbing my quiet. I need a bath. And I still want a nap. Huff, huff, stomp stomp, whine.
Bargaining- Saturday night- Okay, if I can get a full night's sleep, maybe I'll be okay with Sunday coming. Maybe.
Depression- Sunday morning- I wannnnaaaa go baaaaaackkkkkk......sniff, sniff.... I miss my family and the mountains and the quiet and the trees and I don't want to reenter the work force tomorrow. Exactly how long do I have before I accrue vacation days again? If it's more than two days I'm not sure I can make it through.
Acceptance- Sunday afternoon- It is a blessed 71 degrees, remniscent of the weather we had in Montana last week. Our windows are open, and we are spending the day reading, playing with Oliver, eating muffins, and being quiet. You know, it's kinda nice to be home. Having routines and schedules can be a good thing. And I'll be better for work having spent a week away. I'll try to look at the mountains of to-do that lie before me and think of the mountains that I gazed at a few days ago. Big, seemingly insurmountable, and omnipresent; but maybe, if I stop to take a few deep breaths when looking at them, I can find a quiet, strong peace. I am home.
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