What to do..?

Limbo. Not the bendy-back dancing type, but the vague, grey, floaty type. I feel an odd sort of deflation now that my first novel has been inflicted upon the world (well, upon one agent). Getting to this stage was something I had been aiming towards for a long time, and now it's over - until the rejection flops faithfully on the doormat, and I try again after a brief bout of hysterics. Of course, there are plenty of things I could be doing: edit novel number 2, do that short story for my little writing support group (who, I would like to say, are always supportive, encouraging and deliciously astute), pen a new flash fiction for the same group. Sometimes, though, one simply has to wallow.
If anyone wants me, I'll be taking a mud bath.