Thanksgiving is a bitch for Americans. Tables covered with large dishes of sides. Daylong snacking we sometimes call fasting. (Or for the less hypocritical of us, training for the big game.)
I, for one, never can escape food coma. No matter how very little I ate, I gain forty pounds in one sitting.
Afterwards, all food looks like a pervert sixty-year-old winking across the room. Always hitting on me, always making me swear off dating and humanity.
It doesn't mean Thanksgiving din-din was bad. I was--wait for it--satisfied.
And at that moment, I am amazingly satisfied. So satisfied, I can't think of that smiling salad across the room or its slow cousin tiramosu.
It's the same with almost everything. Ever heard the saying: too much of a good thing...?
So, sometimes, when someone says they won't CP for you, review your movie, critic your painting, promote your blog, or say yes to your query, it really isn't you.
It's the timing.
Best thing you can do is make your work the best.
Food and art comas don't last forever.
Don't take it to heart.