I am an artist

And because I am an artist, I have an art blog on tumblr. And because I want to avoid becoming a mental patient, I do some art therapy every day, just to ward that off. I haven't finished any for today yet, because I missed my window.

Which was in the morning half of the day, after some sleep, and before the crushing burden of sleep-deprivation or emotional roller-coaster of fear drained that well dry.

GREAT morning. I invited all of my best friends to my imaginary birthday party, and they all seem to be coming. Even some new best friends, who I haven't even met yet! And I am totally about good enough, so every invite accepted? GOLD.

But not the comedy kind. Unless you find nigh-manic nigh-lunacy funny. Which I totally do! My love for my fellow man does have a totally hilarious aspect. Because it is without discretion. Without judgement. It is undiscerning.

It tries to find a reason to love even the unloveable.

Like Hitler.

I don't usually admit this, because Hitler? really?

But my mom let me know the other day that my great-grandmother, a Jew of Hispanic descent from Turkey, prayed for Hitler. Because she thought it was obvious that he needed God's help.

And it so obvious that he did. Hopefully he is getting it.

I don't actually waste much time trying to find Hitler's loveable side, because he is dead.

And I am here for the living. Because they are the people who can help me.

But I digress. I missed my morning of wonderfulness, got drained, and now have to practice my art feeling half dead.

Which will be ok, because practising at all is the part that is important to me. And I am no longer looking for great.

I am looking for good enough.