The 5 chronic stages of going back to work in the New Year 5 months ago

The 5 chronic stages of going back to work in the New Year

Nah.

Just nah.

If you didn't go back to work today, good for you, that must have been nice, we're not jealous at all.

The rest of us did.

Well, apart from the people working retail who have been working all over Christmas regardless. Heroes, every last one of them.

But this isn't about them, this is about us - the people who went back today, and the five chronic stages of grief upset we experienced.

1. Denial

Your alarm went off this morning but did you get up right away?

Of course you didn't, you snoozed that bad boy a decent four times before sighing far too deeply and forcing yourself to roll out of bed.

The cold hit you like a tonne of bricks, your head hurt, for the first time in two weeks you weren't hungover but it didn't make a difference.

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be.

2. Anger

Fuck this.

Fuck work.

Fuck needing a job to survive in this godforsaken world and fuck anybody who adheres to this chronic existence pretending that they're totally OK with it.

Nobody is. They can't be. Most of the country just had at least seven days off to sit on their holes and eat Quality Street, do you think anybody's happy to be here?

Stop smiling Gemma, you're not delighted to be back. You're a fucking liar.

3. Bargaining

The rosary beads are out, lads.

She's not messing around.

Just let the pipes b e frozen or the office flooded or the entirety of management be conveniently out sick so you can do nothing for the day.

Please.

4. Depression

You can't move. Your head hurts. The room is spinning and you may burst in to tears at any moment.

Rob from Finance needs you to submit your expenses for last month but all you want to do is sleep.

The world is dark, this job is abysmal, your future is hopeless.

Accept it.

5. Acceptance

Look lads, it's alright. It was always going to happen, work was always going to return and you were always going to be there experiencing it.

You get up, you tackle your hellish commute, you sell your soul to The Man for a solid eight hours a day, and then you go home only to repeat it all again tomorrow for the meagre wage that would hardly let you afford rent in Sligo never mind Dublin.

This is just how life is now.

Enjoy it.