I found myself, mid afternoon, feeling weary and faint. Yes, I found myself weary in well-doing. I was in my office. I had conducted my final student consultation of the day. It was lovely. Satisfying. And then, the ennui. The looming headache. The letdown. I had read what there was to read. A lot of it. Articles upon status updates upon tweets. Upon articles.
I had an election hangover.
Also, my feet were tired.
What was there to do, the people, but go home? Home home home, with its homelike snacks and the prospect of rest. Yes, America, I went to there. (That's home, rest, snacks, in case you lost track.)
When the historian got home, we talked about the articles and status updates and tweets and the chatter on NPR. I talked to my dad (I won't say who he voted for, but his initials are Barack Obama)--it's clear we all stayed up a little too late. It's possible that I am, even now, watching The Daily Show.
But tomorrow I go cold turkey. No. More. Except for this. And maybe this.
Back to work, but first: sleep.