I had the perfect email ready to go. No body, merely a subject line: “Say Cheese, Baby!”
The recipients had been carefully selected. Hitting the send key was going to feel like opiates flooding my brain. My pregame giddiness was almost pathological.
No mail was sent. I feel today as if I need a treatment center. There may be nothing so difficult as coming down. Reassurances from loved ones help but do not heal.
What the hell happened? I do not know. Who wants to bear witness to a train wreck. It was like the contradiction of a near death experience: It happened so fast yet seemed to unfold in slow motion.
Tomorrow will come. When it does, I will be here, a Cheesehead for life.
“Stunned” seems appropriate.