I’ve been on holiday this week.  Not holiday as away by the seaside or on a glamorous city break somewhere, just off work.  They call it annual leave these days, which kind of makes it sound as if you should still be kind of, in some way, tied to your workplace.  I had no qualms in rejecting a telephone call from an academic to my mobile yesterday; I refuse to listen to the answerphone message they left me.  For I am on holiday.

It’s been quite nice, doing nothing.  There was the bank holiday on Monday and this coincided with my birthday.  Celebrating birthdays is something that seems a little silly for somebody of my age, but celebrate I did with friends, a bit of booze and a nice meal at the local Italian.  With the help of Timehop, I was reminded of previous birthdays that I’d shared snippets from on various social media platforms.  Those from the past four years had actually been surprisingly delightful, spent with people whose company I value more than anybody’s: 2012 and the pissed up shenanigans in Keswick with David and Carly; 2013 and the pissed up shenanigans in Manchester with Jo; 2014 and more civilised meal with my family and the Canadians who were over for a visit; 2015 and the return from Ireland with a broken ankle, again spent partly with Canadians and my friend the dishcloth botherer.

All these events, and others in between, have served to remind me that I’m actually very privileged to have such good people around.  Good people whom I might not have got to know if my life hadn’t fallen apart ever so slightly five years ago.  But Timehop also reminds me that, before my life fell apart ever so slightly, I was blissfully happy, so much so that I was ignorant to the fact that I was in a relationship with somebody who was a devious, controlling, backstabbing liar.  Despite all these things, I’m still not sure whether I’d sacrifice those friendships and those who’ve cared for me over the past four years for the sake of being controlled again by a devious, backstabbing liar.  None of it really matters since since I’m never going to be in the position to choose.  Besides, I’m quite happy sharing drunken weekends and inane texts with a dishcloth botherer, visits to Huddersfield to see the Salford exile, not to mention broken ankles with Canadians.

Today has fallen victim to my ennui.  I’ve been feeling remarkably down in the dumps for some reason.  Maybe it’s the because the summer is over, maybe it’s because we’re off to scatter Mum’s ashes this weekend, maybe it’s because my pharmacy has changed supplier for my antidepressants and I’m now on white tablets and not blue ones.  What are these people thinking of?  I can imagine the meeting: “We’re changing from blue Sertraline to white ones.  I’m sure people with depression who think we’re giving them placebos anyway won’t mind one bit.  We already fuck them up by starting the week on a Sunday and not a Monday.”

Placebo or not, I’d better go and take my tablet.  I have to spend time with my sister this weekend and I’m already getting stabby at the thought.