I gave myself permission to start the day late even though I woke up earlier than usual…I slept early without the aid of sleeping agents. Pure exhaustion is the answer to insomnia. I just love my bed. It used to feel empty but now it’s full of…ME! I don’t think I can share it now with anyone. Except for the cats.

And I gave my cats some morning exercise with the help of the laser pointer. After shredding that paper bag, they needed to expend their energies on other pursuits.

Weekly calls, editorial chores, etc occupied the rest of my day. Still didn’t manage to finish any of my pending articles left stewing in my leads list.

Then the DIY bug hit me again.

This time I fixed my closet door that hasn’t been closing for 2 years. Now I was able to fix it and the only missing tool to accomplish this was a cordless electric screwdriver so I can install the roller catch. Geez! 🙄 I waited that long.

Now the eternal cause of irritation when dressing daily is finally no more. It now closes.

I am multi-talented but an idiot. 😂😂😂😂😂

I am reminded by this passage I saw on my Twitter newsfeeds.

This made me feel a little bit better. I have so many interests but I doubt if I am exceptional in any of them so I hid them from other people, especially my drawing. Only a few people knew I drew in high school. No one in my high school knew I was already a published writer. I didn’t let people know much about that because I was afraid they would think my efforts were not good enough. Same with my visual art. People my high school only knew me as an actress and a singer. Then when I became an adult, only very few people knew I sang, played the piano, and acted on stage. Zero knew I drew. I was known to be just a journalist.

I always thought I had to be excellent in all of those things I am interested in. I thought I had to be good but Kurt Vonnegut assured me that it’s ok to be mediocre. As long as I enjoy them, who the fuck cares, right? I enjoy watercoloring so I should be happy that I can do it. I keep buying frames for my drawings/paintings because it makes me happy. As I told my shrink this weekend, art therapy melted my anxiety and helped me lift myself out of the doldrums.

All these things—my multiple interests—are helping me heal. I’m enjoying life again. It took a while but, hey, I don’t have to rush.

P.S. I should buy Kurt Vonnegut books. An editor I know is a fan.