I'm now on holidays until nearly the end of January.
You'd think I'd be thrilled. Nothing of the sort. In my mind, the next seven weeks are stretching out before me like a Great Yawning Chasm waiting to be filled. With what, I ask?
And there's absolutely No Way Out. I have to be on holidays. The school is shut. My salary is still going into my bank account every two weeks. And Christmas is rapidly approaching.
My Holiday Trepidation is of course caused by the winning combination of Self-Pity & Resentment. Poor Middleaged Me - single & lonely, trudging down the street dragging my squeaky shopping trolley behind me on the way to the supermarket to buy food to make Dinner for One. As I trudge, I notice nothing but Middleaged couples smugly holding hands & laughing no doubt at some Smug Joke. They're probably just about to go on a Smug Romantic holiday to Paris or Noumea, I bet.
But this morning, the second day of my holiday, my Poor Me Fantasy was abruptly shattered by a phone call from Peter from 'Zinc', my local cafe.
He wanted to know if I was coming down to the cafe because he had something for me. I immediately applied lipstick & trotted, not trudged down the street. When I arrive Peter hands me a card. I open it & out pops a front row ticket to see Lucinda Williams in concert next April. I'm so excited that I'm getting My Tenses all mixed up! And I'm not even going to bother correcting them.
I don't have to. I'm on holidays.