And the Artist rested, after an exhausting week of battle, some of it physical, most of it mental, all of it worth it.

And the Artist rested, after a confronting week of intimately interacting with others, who for the most part, may not have regarded a word she said.

And the Artist rested, after a weary week of winning some battles, losing others, and feeling indifferent towards the war itself.

And the Artist rested, after a perplexing week of making choices and decisions; not the obvious ones, or even the necessary ones, but the ones that relentlessly confronted her from the inside:

What should I do next?
How can I make this work?
Am I capable of doing this?
What if I’m wrong?

And the Artist laid her weary mind to rest, for just this hour, knowing that soon enough a new hour will beckon a new battle.

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