Then came brunch, with raspberry mimosas, strawberry and Nutella sandwiches, cupcakes, and taco dip. I snarfed so many cupcakes that I will sneeze sprinkles for a week. And then we went to the next party, with birthday cake and ice cream and frozen Twix. There was egg hunting and grandparent hugging and cactus-sitting-on, which was not my favorite part of the day. And then we watched Total Recall with my dad and I trimmed the chihuahua's toenails and flopped on the sofa in my conspicuously impractical shoes, wishing I could take a nap.
This is our Easter. It's a comfortable ritual with friends and family that I look forward to and love. But something odd happens every year.
Every Easter afternoon, I get this horrible feeling.
I start out lazy, sleepy, tired. My eyes feel heavy. The couch looks so inviting. But a nap is somehow always impossible, and I start thinking of all the things I have to do. A book to finish. Emails to write. Deadlines. Reviews. So very much mail to send. A huge stack of books that I would be reading if I wasn't so anxious over nothing. And housecleaning. Don't even get me started on that.
I get frachetty. Annoyed. Resentful. Grouchy. I pace a bit like a cat in a cage. Things feel like they're falling apart, like I'm trying to keep too many plates spinning. And yet I'm powerless to do anything, and any attempt at work is met with stubborn malaise.
I start to think about Douglas Adams' The Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul.
It makes me want to throw tea in someone's face.
I start to think about the Easter afternoon when I was seven and I first discovered The Phantom Tollbooth. I was in a very Milo mood, and it started on TV, and I watched it, thinking, THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME WHO RECEIVED THE PHANTOM TOLLBOOTH, FOR EVERYTHING IS A WASTE OF TIME, AND EASTER IS STUPID, AND MEH.
Every year it happens, and despite how awesome the morning is, by afternoon, I've decided that Easter is indeed the stupidest holiday ever and is somehow broken.
And then today, I finally recognized the problem.
It's not an existential crisis. It's just a massive sugar crash.
And next year?
I'm totally doing it again.