I made it, although not without a lot of support and sympathy from my friends.  The last day was difficult; I counted five times I almost cried and two colleagues I almost yelled at for not even bothering to try and back me up despite how many times I've done favors for them.  For the first Sunday in a long time, I'm not tense and dreading Monday knowing I would go back to the same dysfunction, fulfilling the colloquial definition of insanity.

Time off won't fix the root problems at work, but if I can even semi-disown the problems that I have no control over, that's progress.  I'm making a determined effort to appreciate the difference between how I would normally feel vs. the relief and relative lack of stress I'm enjoying without worrying about the next day.

I still am not sure exactly how I'm going to spend my time off outside of basically spending time here in the city and seeing my family in NJ, but that was kind of the plan.  Instead of being bound to a rigid schedule I'm trying to remind myself what it used to be like before I entered the rat race.  Back when I felt that I didn't live to work, I worked to live.  When I didn't have to drag myself out of bed and could take time off without counting days, or being afraid that answering my body's demands would result in a penalty according to corporate policy.

I'm seeing tomorrow as the real start date of my leave. I have hope that this might really help me to limit stress from things I can't change, knowing that being absent from work for this length of time will prove how many emergency holes I've plugged in the past simply because I push myself that hard.  I don't want to be the little Dutch boy with my finger stuck in the dam anymore.  Let the pressure go, and see what happens.