Last week, I thought I was having an existential crisis.

Or perhaps it was just not enough sleep?

Maybe I needed more sun?

Early on set-dementia? Chronic fatigue? Perimenopause?

Is Mercury in retrograde?

B12… it was probably a lack of B12, I thought.

But no. I didn’t have any of those things. I simply had what is known as “TERM 4”.

FU you Term 4. You should be the best of terms. To start with, you’re the shortest term. You have Christmas themed everything. You have parties, events, summer days and celebrations. You have frivolity and rewards and gifts and candy canes. You have concerts and dinners and raffles and drinks. You are the epitome of happy.

So why do I hate you so much?

How do you make rational parents, far and wide across the land, become slightly unhinged, and fantasise about your fast and furious death… Why Term 4. WHY?

You need to chill out a bit. Not be so needy with all of your parties and concerts and catch-ups. I don’t like to say it, but Term 4… I think you’re a little bit narcissistic. You’re just too high maintenance. You’re a bit of a wanker….A bit up ya-self. You remind me of my ex-husband.

Can I suggest you take a tip from Term 2. Term 2 is the Bob Marley of terms. Full of enlightenment with calm focus, slathered with purposeful love-filled productivity. There’s no need for costumes, parades, and endless parties for Term 2. No-siree Bob (Marley). Look, Term 2 may be stoned, but whatevs. We love Term 2. You….eh… not so much.

It’s not all your fault though, Term 4. The Western World is all a little bonkers at the end of the year. I can’t speak for everyone, but I now have an intimate understanding as to why some animals sacrifice their young and the realisation that black widow Spiders may be onto something.

So, it’s a hearty goodbye from me Term 4. I shall not be sad to see your arse end as I look forward to basking in a sea of relaxed glory. No more early morning shuffles, lunchboxes, uniform washing, homework, readers, notes, excursions, more notes, events, sport, sport, and sport. A gleeful 6-week hiatus, as we contemplate the arrival of your cheerfully hyperactive and hopeful friend known as Term 1.

Hold tight my fellow Term 4 warriors. We are almost done. I wish you well as we limp across the finish line, ceremoniously wrapped in tinsel and gaudy paper while drunk on exhaustion and dubious gift-buying decisions.

One more week…. let’s do this!