Holidays Are Over

Mike has gone back down south. We put him on the train at lunchtime. I have deflated his blow-up mattress and stowed it away in a drawer. 

 The holiday season is over.

Christmas acts as a buffer between one year and the next. Nothing that happens between December 20 and January 3 (approx) ever seems quite real. 

I was going to compare Christmas to a fugue state, but having checked out what Wikipedia says about fugue, I suppose that's a bit extreme.

"Confusion over personal identity"? Actually that fits pretty well. 

Because what I feel right now is that I've finally got my life back after a blurred hiatus. 

Whether I'm happy about it is another matter.