Sometimes we feel exhausted, fit for nothing but disappearing into a hot bath, before staggering to bed and sleeping for a week or two.
But when we feel like this after having given our precious time, our limited energy, our bravest commitment to creating something meaningful – when we can feel the honest roughness of our worn, aching hands, the damp clamminess of our perspiring backs and brows, the dusty dryness of our weary eyes, yet still look at what’s before us and say, with pride: “I made this” – then that’s one happy kind of tired.
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