[I don’t want to sound like I’m trivializing any sort of depression or mental health issue, much less PTSD, but the acronym was just too easy and I’m nothing if not lazy.]
It’s started already.
It usually begins a week or so out from our vacation: Lance starts getting blue, mopey, nihilistic.
He’s stops going to the gym. “What’s the use? Nothing’s going to change between now and when we leave.”
He eats pizza for lunch…and dinner. “What does it matter? I’m such a fat cow.”
He’s quiet, distant, his mind obviously consumed by…something.
You see, this, dear readers, is Lance’s Pre-Trip (Stupid) Depression. He’s sad vacation will soon be over before it’s even begun.
“In a week and six days, we’ll already be back from Hawai’i!” he whines. “WAH!”
I’ll admit, I struggle with this thought process, which basically substitutes a person’s understandable “excited anticipation” for an impending vacation to a morose melancholy about the fleeting nature of vacations.
And once we’re actually sitting on a beach in Hawaii or perusing through shelves at Tower Records in Shibuya for obscure foreign cast recordings of Broadway musicals, it’s no better. Lance will let out an extended sigh and mumble, “I can’t believe our vacation is almost over…” when, in fact, we have six days left.
“Well, what’s the point of even going on vacation if you’re just going to be miserable before you go, miserable while you’re there, and miserable once vacation is over?” I ask, exasperated. Lance admits this change in his mood doesn’t make any sense. “Just let me eat my half a large pizza…!” he pleads. ::MUNCH MUNCH::
I even try to rationalize with him. “You do realize,” I say, not helping my cause because I’m already establishing myself as a condescending jerk, “that we have other vacations to look forward to, planned all the way through spring of 2015! New York! Dollywood! Disneyland! A cruise! Europe!”
“But none of them are Hawai’i,” he states simply.
…And I can’t argue with him there.