This morning felt better. Last night I was already well into a reading rhythm, and the reading before bed seemed to have had good effect on my sleep.
When I woke up I immediately wrote my daily pages while still in bed, propped up by pillows. The entry started thus:
"Midsummer has crept up on me. But with it, it carried gifts. At least I like to think that it carried gifts, for sometimes there is not much to hope for in a day, and one must scrounge for hope in whatever way one can."
Then the trail broke into many parts and I found myself brainstorming on solutions and things to do and ideas to keep the art shops alive and active, and how to woo more patrons, and finally a more definite inkling on how to tackle the dayjob offer if it comes.
Last night I did sketchbook work, as I now feel rather lacking in a day when I don't do it.
Getting back into a long deep art-making mode is critical for this week. I am still clearing out the fatigue from the past six weeks.