This must be how John Lennon felt after he surfaced from his epic 1974 bender on Brandy Alexanders with Harry Nilsson. You wake up, you wonder how all those things happened, and you decide that while it was fun you couldn't do it again.
For the past fortnight, regardless of what economists and politicians might say, Britain stopped doing what it normally does.
We stopped whining, quite a lot of us stopped working, and football became our least favourite sport. We buried ourselves in Clare Balding (which not many can say), we realised we're not always rubbish, and we almost grew to like Sebastian Coe.
We forgot the fact we're in a recession and living in a country run by clueless rich boys with zero idea of how the other 99 per cent live and instead enjoyed the spectacle of them being inept to the tune of 'zig-a-zig-aah'.
We had a national immersion in the moment, a bit like when Princess Diana died. In a day or two we'll probably have the same head-shaking 'did that really happen?' change of mood, the one where you realise it was silly to chuck roses onto the M1 or dress up as an Olympic mascot.
The problem with suspending your scepticism so completely is that you lose the critical eye with which you can notice the more important stuff. The wood among the trees, the prettiest pebble on the beach, the things which make you think.
And that's what journalists are for - or at least, the ones who weren't busy writing reams of colour about the atmosphere in the velodrome and instead wander off and poke about at things.
So you may not have noticed it, but it should be noted nevertheless that:
* We suddenly know a lot more than we used to about fencing. And not the kind you paint green so it blends in, I mean the type with floppy blunt needles and illogical costumes. Can anyone explain the socks?
* The Queen is the only person in human history to skydive and not be glad she survived.
* If Boris cycles everywhere, and Bradley Wiggins cycles everywhere, how come Boris is still a twat?
* It is now socially acceptable to have a Union Jack outside your house, office or car without being seen as a racist (Union Jack flag pedants please read this).
* Union Jack gimp suits are never acceptable.
* The Americans accused the world's best female swimmer of being genetically modified. At the same time the Americans are trying to genetically modify their own soldiers. Sore losers, the Yanks, and hypocritical with it.
* While athletes at their physical peak were grateful for taxpayer-funded rooms and a canteen providing free chicken nuggets, members of the House of Lords on £300 a day just for turning up have moaned their pork escalopes are dry and the subsidised wine's not good enough. Fine. Let's move the politicians to single beds in the Olympic village and wave goodbye to second home expenses while we're at it.
* There's no way West Ham are going to be able to fill that stadium. Let's give it to Leyton Orient for free instead and see what happens.
* Red trousers are no longer just for toffs.
* Troops drafted in to sort out the mess left by a private security firm and idiot organisers and had their leave cancelled are going to get a commemorative coin. Money that's not even legal tender. I reckon they'd be happier with a few days off and a season ticket to the new Leyton Orient ground.
* Two weeks ago immigrants and benefit claimants were regarded as the worst people in the country. Now a Somalian refugee and a black girl from a sink estate in Leeds are national heroes. If we're very lucky the Paralympics might shut Iain Duncan Smith up permanently.
* David Cameron has had a fortnight of duvet days, the lazy, bloated public-sector, state-funded shirker.
* There are females who are famous for something other than sleeping with someone. Isn't that nice?
* The biggest Olympic legacy for most of us is going to be the large dent in the sofa which will lead to a trip to the furniture shop and a mini-boom for chiropractors.
* The opening ceremony was brilliant because it showed what Britain is good at, and the closing ceremony was rubbish because it showcased the stuff that's left over - shallowness, drug-addled celebrities, mainly miserable songs, and noisy dustbin lids.
* Russell Brand is finished.
* And finally, of course, that as a nation we may have a stiff upper lip but the lower one wobbles quite a bit.
But it's over now. Time to go back to work, count what's left of our money and vow to behave more sensibly in the future.
Until next time.
"Brandy Alexanders? Oh Jesus no..."