Rejected again last night, and I didn't cry over it. I'm too busy with these other freelance distractions to cry, or feel sorry for myself for a long extended period of time, as would be my usual, and so maybe it's for the best that I am doing this, not a spare second to put away the laundry or sleep. A spare second is all I need to break down again.

Rejection gives you tough skin, it's true. But under it, where no one can see, is another matter.