If you are resuming responsibilities after a holiday spent flopping around like a southern elephant seal who subsists on Toblerone, Christmas ale and cream soup casseroles, I am deeply sorry.

Because not only does the first week of January signal an end to a culturally agreed-upon period of fantasy, it draws out the most diametrically opposed personalities. Two kinds of people emerge from this adipose haze: January People and February People.

January People leap back into the business world with twitching eyes, insisting everyone else be perky, too. They stride through their place of employment with freshly washed hair, handing out sheets of construction paper on which they will force others to workshop a mission statement at 9 a.m. They know the definition of a "SWOT analysis" and can rattle off all 16 personalities outlined by the "Myers-Briggs Type Indicator." Their holiday decorations are already sorted and stored in airtight containers.

February People (it's me, hi) are the types who complained, "My stomach hurts, I can't dress out," three times a week in gym class. They haven't consumed water in days. They text "on the way!" when they have yet to find their shoes, keys or pants. If February People didn't live in a society that tragically required output for an exchange of goods and services, they could be on "break" forever.

As always, empathy is key to navigating philosophical chasms. It would behoove January People to learn the language of those who spend five days proverbially warming up the car in the driveway. And it would behoove February People to speak to their hyperactive counterparts in a way that conveys respect, but also, "Go away."

For example, a February Person might say, "I am excited to marinate on this project and give it the time and attention it deserves." They will say this even if the project does not deserve time and attention. Please know that the word "marinate" signifies zero intention of getting to this today.

When a February Person says, "I would love to come to the team outing at Greek City to talk about Q1 goals, but I have some personal things to take care of at lunch," this means they will be sleeping in the back of their car like a tabby cat who has found a little ray of sun.

"Digging out of emails!" is a classic delay tactic. Centuries of February People have claimed to be digging out of emails for days after a holiday. Before emails, they were digging out of faxes. Before faxes, they were digging out of telegrams. I guarantee you that February People in caves were digging out of hieroglyphics.

Some February People living in the pandemic's wake are blessed to work from home in an environment where they can, say, write a newspaper column with their feet nestled firmly inside a heated Sharper Image Shiatsu foot massager that they bought "the family" for Christmas. Not naming any names.

But catastrophically, many February People must still venture into public. Do not disturb a delivery driver sitting on a waterfront bench sipping from a Big Gulp. He has been traumatized by delivering foot massagers. Same goes for a restaurant worker ripping cigs by the dumpster. You, January Person, can refill your own water.

Likewise, if a co-worker has been shut inside a bathroom stall for a suspicious amount of time, let it be. January People must fight every instinct to shout, "You OK in there???" She is not OK. She is playing Wordle and marinating on goals for the quarter. She will be out in time. We will all be out in time.

Stephanie Hayes is a columnist at the Tampa Bay Times in Florida. Follow her at @stephhayes on Twitter or @stephrhayes on Instagram.

Photo credit: Annie Spratt at Unsplash