And I don't know if it's the new frabbit, or what, but I feel odd.
I loved the trip. It was amazing, and I have so many little tales to tell, about crazy B&Bs with teapot obsessions and japenese koi carp. I also adored the polo. I mean, I was shit, but it was still awesome fun. I think I could quite happily run away to Argentina and play polo..
And now I'm back.
In some ways, I think it was really good to have a break, but in others it was probably really bad. For instance, I have a supervision in 3 hours, which I haven't even thought about, never mind locating the reading. And I'm not really panicked about it. So, yes, I'm chilled and relaxed, but I really shouldn't be. I should be all kinds of stressed about getting all my work done.
I should care. But I just don't. And as soon as I got back inside this bubble it's like I put on a big depressive coat. I'm watching the snow fall outside, and instead of being fascinated by how it falls, I just want to go curl up on my bed. I suspect I have issues. Shocker.
I want to go back to playing polo. That was fun.
I was a skank last night and didn't get changed from my 'whites' [after 0.05 seconds around horses they are anything but white] before going to an exec meeting and film night. I don't think anyone quite understood.
Hrm. I think what I was going to go on to should be saved for another post, given the impending supervised doom.
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