I still haven’t stopped crying. I don’t cry all day anymore, but the least little thing can set me off. Nick thinks it’s a form of PTSD, I think he might be right.
It’s not as bad as those first few days; the days when I sat in the corner of the couch vacillating between a catatonic numbness and quiet sobbing. I eventually leave the house and head to the gym, hoping that exercise will help me snap out of it. I guess it was a little too soon, because I started crying the minute I get on the elliptical. I was still crying an hour later, sweaty, but still crying.
On the way home I stopped at Book Passages and bought a couple of the “lightest” books I could find. I couldn’t stoop to escapist bodice rippers, but I needed books that looked cheerful, nothing taxing, dark, introspective or moving. I wanted something escapist, but with at least a little literary cred. I bought the “Portable Veblem.” I figured that any book about a talking squirrel wouldn’t tax my fragile psyche. A day or so later I read that Hillary felt the same way. She admitted that post election, she too just wanted to curl up with a good book and never leave the house. At least I was in good company.