We got back from our vacation on Friday night, went to sleep early, woke up early to run (8 miles) and then rested all day yesterday. I fell asleep around 9 last night and woke with the alarm at 7 or something. I've been downloading pictures and doing a little laundry and we went to the grocery store and I almost flipped out. It wasn't really crowded yet, but everything was overwhelming me. Ryan asked me if I needed "something." Yes.
I expected a post-vacation slump, but this is different. It started during the vacation. I noticed something when I was looking at the pictures. We had some awesome times, but the stress of the arrangements and finding things and food after 5PM (because everything including restaurants close early) got to me, too. We also figured that there were days when we easily walked 10 miles. And my feet were, my feet, so I was dealing with pain and stiff and sore muscles. So, not feeling super-fantastic every minute isn't really realistic. That's cool. I get that.
But then, I have photographic evidence of a bad day. This was Thursday and we'd blocked off the entire day to see the British Museum and then the British Library. I was so excited. Ryan had been talking about the "Rosetta Frickin' Stone" for MONTHS. We got there late because I couldn't get myself ready that morning. Crowds were forming and they were getting on my nerves--teeth grindingly. You walk into one gallery and there it is--the Rosetta Stone. I've wanted to see that for as long as I live and I couldn't feel anything. Eh. Cool.
Ryan took this picture of me:
I was actually enjoying what I was looking at. Can't you see? After that, we took a brief trip to the bathroom and in the hallway, Ryan slipped me an anti-anxiety med. A whole one. The next one is of me right after that, looking at the Elgin Marbles. You know, the scuptures off the tops of the Parthenon? Such excitement.
After wandering and seeing lots of cool things and eating lunch and throwing my trash and dishes into the same can and getting yelled at, we passed an empty case. There was a sign "Where Is Lindow Man?" Oh, he's off helping open a museum near where they found him. WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. Ryan looked kind of huffy and then immediately went into comfort-mode. As in, comfort your wife who was looking forward to seeing BOG PEOPLE for frick's sake. I stood there and then sort of paced for a while, trying to tell myself that I was going to be a big girl and not cry. It happens.
After that, we went to the British Library and there was no Chaucer and Beowulf was in his 6-month storage period. I understand that in theory, but DANG! Not the day.
Then we walked into St. Pancras station because it's pretty and then walked around Soho for longer than I wanted and got noodles and came back to the hotel to pack and rest.
I realize that's a lot in one day. A LOT. And following about 12 similar days, but something was off. After walking IN CIRCLES in Oxford for almost an hour, I leaned against a wall and cried in public. Only briefly, but still. It just feels different.
I have a doctor's appointment in the next week or so. And I have this next week off so hopefully I can rest and prepare for this next year and my new, much harder class.