Woke up brutally early and couldn't fall back to sleep. Why is sleep such a bitch? She always stands me up.
I can't look at the painting or I'll just want to start back in on it, and I need to take a break. I've got painter's fatigue or something. The muscles in my back and neck are all tight and I need to re-set my brain so I can start in fresh the next time I work on it.
I've eaten some breakfast, so that's good. I cleaned up a little, and that's good, too.
My older brother called yesterday evening to tell me that my grandmother is gravely ill. He kept going on about it and I just wanted to get off the phone so bad so I could digest the information without having to deal with him, but he wouldn't stop going on about it. I wanted to have a beer and to fix the ugly part on the painting before it dried.
It was a good night and an awful night, and I'm glad it's today now.