Sometimes I really hate going on leave. Why? Well mainly because it has to end. For some reason, I seem to be happier sitting at work thinking, “Ooh, I’m going on leave”, than being at home or on holiday thinking, “Oh great, I’ve got to go back to work”. I have tried not to think about going back to work, but to no avail. My mind refuses to let go. I have come to the conclusion that the only way to guarantee a successful outcome in this regard will involve head amputation (which is rather drastic, although I believe it’s a sure-fire cure for insomnia, too).
Another thing I hate about being away from work is that it always destroys another piece of my already shaky work ethic. Other people get back to their jobs recharged, rejuvenated and revitalised, whereas I need a defibrillator stuck up my arse to get me functioning on my first day back.
I mention this, because I’ve been on leave for the past ten days or so and returned to the office on Monday to be greeted with an in-tray on the verge of collapse, a screen full of sticky notes and 192 e-mails all marked ‘URGENT!!!‘. It’s nice to be loved, but there are limits, dammit!