It's Sunday night. It's gone 11. I should be in bed, getting some serious shut eye for a busy week at work.
But I'm not, because I can't quite bring myself to admit the weekend is over. I've had a great one, pottering in the garden, having a laugh with DS and DH, and getting out and about in the countryside.
My job is ok. It's a worthy pursuit, it helps people, is pretty aligned with my politics and has the potential to be pretty lucrative (by my standards). It's also stressful, quite lonely, and a HUGE responsibility.
We bought a van this weekend and plan to convert it into a camper. We're hoping to have a two week driving / camping holiday around France for my 40th next summer.
I don't want to go to work tomorrow. I just want to walk my dog, work on the van, and make tasty food.
Why don't you want to go to work in the morning?