Post Festival Depression Is Killing Me

Hi all.

I can't get out of bed. I have Post Festival Depression AKA PFD real bad.

Oh sure, the first day that I couldn't get out of bed was all about the hangover. Day 2, 3 and 4 were all about the post-fest crash and cold. But Day 5 - well this is just PFD - Post Festival Depression - because regular life can't compare to UBER FESTIVAL LIFE.

Oh yeah, I can stroll on over to the Masonic temple right now. But it won't be filled with brilliant people from around the country with the same interest as me who either want to share their tips on filmmaking, story telling or where to get the tight-fisted FEDS' money. Nope.

For sure, I can walk into the Majestic theatre, but there won't be films from all over the world playing to enraptured audiences.

And yes, I can put on my dancing shoes - but hula hoops and balloons won't magically appear and I won't get that urge to boogie down to Mama Cutsworth [1] tunes, or the Subtitles' [2] grooves.

All I can do is rollover in bed and hope that my cat Lulu won't bite me when I encroach on her space.

There's got to be a better way.

Send remedies in the comments.