Yesterday I was droopy and couldn't concentrate. I could remember hardly anything about the theatrical/costume shop I went to, even right after I walked out. My brain wasn't working. I think it's because I didn't have enough sleep. Also I was borderline nauseated. I wasn't sure. I kept asking myself. I tried to tell myself: If you don't know if you're nauseated, you probably aren't. But I think it was the opposite. Today I got enough sleep, I got my half-caf, half-decaf cappuccino, and I feel focused. I've been reading Jerome Groopman's The Anatomy of Hope. It is easier to be hopeful when you're not nauseated and fatigued. I am hopeful today. It's all a circle. I'm a fair-weather optimist. I don't know how the foul-weather ones do it. Groopman writes about a doctor who insisted on grueling treatment for his stomach cancer--and who survived. How could you push through like that?