I, as a naïve, relatively new member of the workforce, assumed that when I returned to the office today, I would be well-rested and ready to work. I thought I would even be a little happy to be back because, after coercing my way out of work on Friday, then having Monday and Tuesday off to celebrate the founding of this great nation with dangerous explosives and beer, I had in total, five entire days without work. One would think that boredom would set in around day three, drinking would lose its fun, reality television its edge. I would come back with a cute pencil skirt and stilettos, the image of Glamour’s working girl/woman.

No.

Admittedly, Friday I was a little lonely. I sat on my couch not really understanding what I was supposed to be doing. There was even a brief moment of weakness wherein I wondered why I had taken the day off at all. Maybe, I thought, I am genetically predisposed to working. Maybe (this thought with a little smile and a tinge of pride) I am just not a lazy person.

Right. Instead it was more like a former athlete returning to the gym. Their muscles may feel a sore at first, but that doesn’t mean they forgot how to run on the treadmill.

By day two of the five day weekend I was happily spending my days sprawled out on the couch watching Real World/Road Rules Challenge reruns while pseudo-reading the pseudo-intellectual book on my lap. From time to time, I ate pizza and concentrated on not spilling tomato sauce on my pajamas. I spent my nights having sex, drinking wine and passing out in front of the air conditioner. I think I can safely make the statement that I did not miss the office at all, unless it happened when I was so drunk that I don't remember it.

And so now, after my utterly unproductive, pizza-eating, wine-drinking, sex-having weekend (that was really more like a week, numerically speaking) I am back at my desk, typing this. And I am wearing jeans that, due to capillary action, have soaked up all the rain on the entire island of Manhattan and are clinging to my legs. And my shoes make little squishy sounds when I walk. And though I can successfully eat pizza lying down, I cannot, apparently, take a sip of coffee while upright, and now my button-down shirt is stained.

All of my co-workers seem to be just as grumpy as me, walking around, clutching their coffee cups and frowning. I am not sure that vacations are such a good idea.