That Sunday night feeling (on a Monday)...

Well, it's finally happened. It usually happens at about ten o'clock on a Sunday night actually, but because of the Bank Holiday, it's just hit me now. At least I bought myself another day. Yes, I'm back at work tomorrow. Can you tell I'm really pleased about it? There really is something about that horrible Sunday night feeling that makes you want to throw yourself into the nearest line of traffic just so you don't have to go back into work. Or wish that your Dad was a multi-millionaire so you could become an heiress. I'm sure I could find better ways to use up my time than Paris Hilton.

I had a lovely day today, as well. I feel like I've seen my gal pals quite a lot this week and done a lot of catching up. We took a trip into town and tried out a new restaurant we'd all been dying to go to (where they just do starters and desserts, the aptly-named Starters and Puds); and had a nice relaxing chat over a bottle of wine. Then I got home and spoilt it all by stewing over what's waiting in my in-tray for me, and what I need to sort out and whether my desk is even more littered with paper than it was before I left on my jollies last week. And whether or not my work wardrobe is all clean. And where the hell is my security pass? Is my phone charged up? More, importantly, is my iPod?? (This has been difficult as somehow the docking station seems to have broken. I take no responsibility for it.)

But anyway, I have to try and put all this out of my mind otherwise I'll be pacing about all night or having terrible work-related dreams. (Please say you've had them too; I don't want to be the only one who dreamt that the pile of papers consuming their desk toppled over and buried them alive in a paper avalanche. Or maybe you've had the one where there was a work-related emergency which caused you to wake up in a cold sweat - and promptly check your Outlook remotely? No? Perhaps I should take more time off.)

Ho hum, at least it's a four-day week. Roll on Friday night.