It'll come back. Emily said it best, she tends to: "After great pain a formal feeling comes- The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs; The stiff Heart questions-was it He that bore? And yesterday-or centuries before?
The feet, mechanical, go round A wooden way Of ground, or air, or ought, Regardless grown, A quartz contentment, like a stone.
This is the hour of lead Remembered if outlived, As freezing persons recollect the snow- First chill, then stupor, then the letting go."
Sure I will. You're at Teague and Brenda's, aren't you?