Hangover

It's been like, a day, but beach house already feels like a dream to me. On my way to work today, I just felt so fucking depressed. I was cursing the traffic, the fugly Sydney roads, the disgustingly cloudy weather and I suppose life in general. I did not want to spend 7 hours in an office twiddling my thumbs. Neither did I want to spend the next two weeks welcoming students to university with fake smiles and exaggerated enthusiasm.

I wanted this:

and this:

and this:

...not the crushing weight of responsibilities and obligations to come rushing back.

It wasn't a perfect holiday of course. There are only so many things you can do at a beach house before you keel over from boredom. I will be happy if I never have to play Thirteen ever again. And that stupid Fifa game. My god. I have nightmares about it. But I would take boredom and restlessness over responsibility any day. I want to be able to wake up at 6:30am and just walk down to the beach to stare at the waves. I want to cook and eat breakfast with people I know and who are familiar to me (even if they're not necessarily people I am really close with). I want to spend lazy nights indoors watching people draw monobrows on each other and doing other stupid shit. I want to live and do - not think.  

So now I'm back to being anxious and confused about life and the future. I know it was long overdue and that my ignorant holiday bliss wasn't going to last but damn if it isn't depressing as hell when it happens.