A Year's Worth of Water-Skiing

So, I'm back home. The year passed, the time flew by, and now I sit in my parents' kitchen, eating real Rice Krispies and drinking proper tea and feeling that neither of these luxuries make up for what I left behind.
So I need to start water-skiing.
This is a phrase I stole from the Spider-man comics of my youth; when Aunt May discovered Peter's alter-ego, she started what she called 'water-skiing'- she took up a slew of new activities and kept on moving, because she knew if she stopped and thought about what had happened, she would sink. I always thought that that was vaguely profound, for J.M. Straczynski, at least.
And while returning home from a year long holiday is in no way the same as discovering your adopted son beats up Goblins (not that I would know), I do worry that I'm in real danger of sinking; I cried five times during the leaving process, once quite seriously, and I don't want my life from now on to be devoured by middle-class melancholy.
I joked with Aspen that, give me a year, and the pain of leaving would be forgotten, and in its place just fond memories from Oz, and I now think there may be some truth in that. So, a year's worth of water-skiing it is, to ride out the ennui. I plan to write everyday, and see old friends, and work in a charity shop, and, if all else fails, maybe even study my course a wee bit. And, with that, ladies and gentlemen, I welcome you to