That Sunday night dread is worse than usual after a vacation. The mind screams, "Don't make me go back there!" Thoughts of what's waiting for me at work in the morning are killing me. The one time I got locked in the loony bin was on a day I went back to work after a vacation (that I took because I was so stressed out at work) and I just freaked out, I couldn't do it. I sat in my cubicle, physically shaking in my chair for ten minutes, before fleeing. In hindsight, I think it was a panic attack.
I find that there's no net benefit, stress-wise, to go on vacation. People talk about taking a vacation as if it relieves stress, but the week before and the week after are always so stressful, it ends up a wash.
So why go at all? It's all the other stuff. Long hours in the car talking with my wife while the kids are asleep. My son having the time of his life going fishing with his grandpa. Reading a book in a hammock by a lake, remembering what it feels like to go seven days in a row without checking work email. I haven't even played a video game in over eight days now, I don't think I've had that long of a stretch in almost 20 years. So the vacation itself was quite nice, and I'm more blessed than I can even comprehend, which means I'm an asshole for complaining about anything after having had a nice time off with the family. (She used that sugar in her coffee anyway, by the way.)
Tomorrow morning might be tough. I'm already fighting the panic and the depression, I'm already pep talking myself, suck it up, dumbass, it's just work, you've been doing it for years and you kinda have a ways to go until retirement, so just fucking get to it, etc, etc... I'm tempted to run back down the whole depressed "what the hell is wrong with me" road, but that road is long, I think I'm just going to keep repeating the "just get to fucking work, dumbass" mantra and see how that goes.
Time to tuck the kiddies into bed, g'night y'all.
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