It has been hard to adjust going back to work. I had a good few weeks off over Xmas, went back to work and came up against a long weekend, got through that and then a week after I started to hit a rhythm again, but then took a week’s holiday so my husband could have a break up the coast.
It is not that I do not like being on holiday, it is that I hate going back and so far it feels like I have gone back three times this year. My natural state is now to be on holiday, not sitting at a desk gazing a a screen which makes my eyes blurry and listening to the latest annoyance in the shared space which is a woman who now sits near me.
She is a perfectly nice woman, but like everyone who is trapped in an office has developed a variety of strategies to get her through the day. One of those is to drink water and although her desk is very close to the kitchen, she insists of filling a one litre glass bottle – like the kind you get given in bistros – and then glugging it noisily and decanting the water into a mug to drink.
Why, if you have taken the trouble of bringing a glass bottle in, would you then not bring a glass in too? Instead of drinking the water from a skanky tea mug? And why does she have to pour the water from shoulder height so it makes the maximum amount of noise?
I am sure she wonders, equally, why I have to bring in an omelette and eat it every morning instead of having my breakfast at home. (Because it means I can spend more time arsing around with the dogs that way is the answer).
I just about scraped through the week, sleeping badly and staying up too late before I went to bed, which meant that the I was really looking forward to this morning when I could ie in again. Three thirty, though, I was wide awake and after lying in bed for twenty minutes, decided to get up out of bed to shake the insomnia.
Creeping out of bed in the green light of the alarm clock, I walked out to the patio and grabbed the cushions in from the sofa. I have no idea why I thought this would be a useful distraction in the middle of the night, but it seemed as good and idea as any. It was not going to rain, bu when you wake up in the middle of the night, your head fills with strange complaints, like the irritating sound of a mug of water being refilled unnecessarily from a litre bottle by a woman who sits three feet from the tap of fresh cold filtered water.
I got back into bed, checked my phone quickly to ensure that world conflict had not erupted and fell back asleep on my pillow.