A strange empty day. I always forget how important the empty days are, how important it may be sometimes not to expect to produce anything, even a few lines in a journal. A day where one has not pushed oneself to the limit seems a damaged damaging day, a sinful day. Not so. The most valuable thing we can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of a room, not try to be or do anything whatever.
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