Yeccch!

What in everlasting creation could be worse than the first day back in the office after a beach vacation?

The dull, aching head...the itchy, sun-ripened skin...the weighty clothing (those aren't socks, by God, those are manacles!)...the 362 unreturned emails.

I was driving in to the office this morning -- knowing from 15 years of post-vacation depression -- that I was feeling that sense of placid inner peace for the last time. And I know that while everyone I see today will welcome me home, their faces will say, "Miserable now, aren't you? Just like me!" Poor deluded fools -- don't they know that the truth can only be found in a $4,000-a-week beach house?

What was I doing this time last week? Yawning as I put down the Tolstoy. Grappling with big questions -- 30 or 45? Ice tea or water? Who ate all the salsa?

And now...this. But which reality is real? And which one shadows on the wall of the cave?

I've got the next 51 weeks to decide.