Gentle Reader, I have the post-trip blues.
That is, my trip has finally caught up with me, and I can unwind a bit, think through my trip, and regret leaving the UK now for the fourth time.
But as I mentioned in my blog posts, this was an emotional trip for me, for many reasons. Mostly because of seeing Gaskell’s and Austen’s graves and homes, but also because the article I’m writing on this is part-critical, part-autobiographical. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever done before, and that’s strange to me.
As for the lingering sadness, there are a few other reasons, as well. Suffice to say I’ve got a wicked case of the “Woe Am I”s and am feeling Sorry For Myself. I hate feeling Sorry For Myself. It’s totally unproductive and annoying to boot. But there it is, alas, slings and arrows and all. And nothing can get me out of the funk I’m in.
The Postmodern Bluestocking 