It occurs to me that I have not had a vacation in 15 months. And the 15-month-ago vacation was tacked onto the beginning/end of a conference, which was lovely because I could not have afforded the ticket to confer-cation location otherwise, but it did mean that I spent a considerable proportion of the "vacation" finessing my talk. (Yes, I was nervous.) Since then, I wrote and defended my dissertation, started a new post-doc position immediately thereafter, continue to wrestle with some publications from grad school, and pulled together what I hope will be a successful fellowship application. I have been working my ass off.
I need a vacation. Really, really bad.
I got a fuckton of shit done last week - superhuman productivity. So, on Saturday I rewarded myself with a do-nothing day in which I sat around eating junk food and watching junk TV in my PJs. All day. And I didn't even feel guilty about it. God, it was good. Then on Sunday I made the epic error of checking my work email. (On a Sunday...why?) A message regarding my fellowship application was enough to send my planned weekend of relaxation into an anxiety-ridden tailspin. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. To ameliorate the anxiety (or rather to beat it into submission) I went to the weight room and lifted until I couldn't lift anymore. It helped, a little. I need to get a handle on this. I need to take a break. I need to start pinching pennies to put into a vacation fund so that I can plan one, have one to look forward to, and actually take one before I burn myself out over here.