If this is what going back to work is like, then you can take it.

--aaaaaaand shove it. For example, today involved:

• waking up effectively hungover from lack of sleep, due to sudden, insidious late night cough.
• interviewing two potential student editors of the student litmag for next year. Which I will be faculty advisor for next year (how did this happen, Dr. Write?).
• lunch with a grandson who turned four today. (This involved noodles and hilarious conversation: Grandson: You know what? Me: What? Grandson: Papa, say what.).
• another potential student editor.
• taking part in the discussion team as part of my new, should-have-said-no responsibility for next year (thanks, former faculty leader! No, really.).
• reception for retiring colleagues (actually, there were cupcakes, so this one was all right).
• home to collapse.
• put on excessively shiny skirt and high heels to go out again, to an evening school event with historian. Also lipstick. Also mascara.
• home to collapse, or actually to report this information on my day, and then collapse.

I need to check my pulse to see if I am still having my sabbatical. I think I am, but the evidence is curiously contradictory.