I suppose it's a combination of coming down from a week-long high of hustlin' and bustlin' to get ready for and then enjoying John's and Liz's visit, the party, and a very bittersweet, drawn-out goodbye. I miss them. Everything was vibrant and warm and alive while they were here, charged with energy to get ready, to make the most of our time, to say exactly how we felt without pretense or shame.
Bless starflare, for in his drunkness, he made the party serious for at least a half hour with toasts and resolutions and well-wishes.
I'm trying to enjoy the quiet and calm of not having the house full of twelve people staying over or cooking some shrimp-inspired food or dashing in and out, but I can't sit still long enough to relax while I can't get up enough energy to do anything. The house is a slimy wreck, the book I'm reading is utter tripe, and I feel like I'm barely alive, diffusing energy in this bloated body, ugh.
Very glum with strong inclinations to do something worthwhile if one could just overcome inertia.
On a less ginger-needs-a-mental-shower note, John and Liz have posted pictures from their nearly-a-week in Oxford here:
All but one is worksafe, and that one...well, you can't really tell who it is unless you were there, or knew him, or heard the story afteward :D