I’m suffering from PVD. I have been for a long time now, about four days. It’s time I share my story:
I’m not sure Post-Vacation Depression is worth taking a vacation in the first place. You jam pack hours of fun activities and brilliant laughs into a few days spent with the best people you know and when it’s all over, you’re supposed to return to Junk City and carry on with the same, mundane drudgery that is life as you usually know it.
It’s like I was eating a 99-cent ice cream sandwich, and then for ten minutes it was replaced with the most glorious and gigantic ice cream sundae ever, complete with Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream, whipped cream, sprinkles, bits of Butterfinger, hot fudge and every delicious topping you can imagine. And then when the ten minute time period was up, even though I could further indulge in this amazing ice cream waterfall of splendor, it is taken away and without choice I’m back to eating the 99-cent ice cream sandwich. But now it has freezer burn. And has shrunken in size. And tastes like the frozen meats and vegetables it was sharing space with in the freezer. You didn’t think a 99-cent ice cream sandwich could get worse. And then it did.
To deal with my current battle of Post-Vacation Depression, I’m gonna avoid the sad, 99-cent ice cream sandwich as much as possible until I can go home, climb into my bed and hide from it and the rest of the world underneath my comforter. I hope it doesn’t prematurely find me before I know I’ll be forced to deal with it again at 9 a.m.