No post last fortnight as I was away on holiday. There was the usual mad rush to get things done just before I went away. Interestingly the jobs that had been piling up for weeks were all completed in the space of a few days. It felt so good to cross things off my list so I guess that ‘to do' lists aren't all bad! Everyone at work had been sick and I hadn't been spared. I hadn't done my immune system any favours by not taking care of myself - poor diet, inadequate sleep, silly amounts of stress and probably just a little too much alcohol. It was a relief walking out of work that Saturday morning knowing that all I had to do was pack, and that the warm weather I was headed towards would have no trouble sorting out my ‘bug.'

Packing light was something that I used to pride myself on. I don't know if I didn't ‘need' as many things when I was younger - I depend on my eye-cream these days. Or maybe I was just more organised. I used to start thinking about packing earlier even though I've always left the actual task to the last minute. Maybe if I'd made a list like used to do I wouldn't have arrived in the middle of the Chilean winter with three pairs of strappy sandals and no coat last year. I also have more anxiety about taking/not taking things which is silly as the things I worry about (a new, pretty pair of blue and pink thongs,) are rarely important enough to feature in my memories of the holiday once it's over. Of course none of these intelligent musings featured in the frenzied packing the morning of the flight, and I left with a much heavier case than intended which narrowly escaped an excess baggage charge.

The holiday itself involved staying in an apartment with my parents and younger sister who I've not lived with for 12 years. Needless to say, I regressed to my childish self and stormed off to my room in huff more than once. I'm not sure that any real woman had an easy relationship with their mother when they were growing up. I know for a fact that none of my friends did, and I'm no exception. Living so far away I'd forgotten how strained things could be. The reality of heated and hurtful exchanges and what I saw as blatant disregard for my feelings compared to my sister contrasted starkly with the rosy family image I'd created in my mind while I was eagerly anticipating the trip. At one point I decided that I did not want my mother to be a part of my life anymore. (I told you I'd regressed to my childish self). Now that I'm back home it doesn't seem so simple of course. I'm not really sure where to go from here. I've thought about writing her a letter to try and explain why I feel the way I feel and I guess that it's not a bad place to start. If nothing else at least it will help me to get things straight in my head.

That aside, the time away from the stresses of my ‘real life' was just what I needed. I ate huge amounts of healthy food, went to bed early and enjoyed doing very little. I didn't touch a drop of alcohol for the entire fortnight, nor did I check my email or feel the need to see who was doing what on facebook. As is often the case, the holiday reminded me both of what was important, and who I really was under all the irritability that stress and anxiety I caused myself at home. I returned adamant that I would do all I could to try and maintain some of this ‘holiday feeling.' It's what everyone wants isn't it? Over the years I've read so many magazine articles about holding onto that holiday feeling after you get back, but they've been filled with ideas that seem patronising to me. So I've been trying to just hold on to the little things that make all the difference - going to sleep at a decent hour, cutting down on the amount of caffeine I drink and getting those little jobs done every couple of days, almost as if I was soon off on holiday again. If all else fails, I have a little more annual leave coming up in just over six weeks and I'll start again. One thing I do know is that I'm taking a smaller suitcase this time.