You know how months and months of waking up to the blasted alarm wears you down?
And how making a kazillion PB&J sandwiches gets tiresome?
How, eventually, the workout routine becomes–yawn–boring?
How Monday after Monday after Monday of sorting, washing, folding and putting away socks and t-shirts gets redundant?
How there comes a point when the weekly menu begins to look eerily similar to that of the week before?
You know, don’t you?
You’ve been there.
All that work is not without reward though.
Because along comes Christmas break and you sleep to your dreams content. You eat tinfulls of peanut butter balls and pralines and macaroons and fudge. There are parties. Wine. Spiked nog. Rum that’s all hot and buttered.
The days become lazy. There is not an alarm to be heard. Not a menu to shop for. Nothing to do but sit on the couch and zip through your Netflix queue.
It’s blissful.
Heavenly.
Maybe a touch gluttonous.
And then one fine day you look down into your crumb-filled lap and wonder, hmm. Have I always been this wide?
All the sleeping in catches up. And throws you off in the wee hours of the morning when your brain can’t handle a singlesecondmore of REM.
Your hands turn idle.
Your heart turns restless.
Your body? All the more.
In the nick of time really. Because just when you think you can’t take the lazy? The nowhere-to-be, nothing-to do?
Reality comes knocking.
So you open the door.
And welcome her home.
Come on in. Stay awhile.












