Hard way to go

Is most art some form of mental illness, is expression that has any depth and isn't merely formulaic nonsense, the price people pay for being introspective or self aware? Maybe for some; because it's obvious that for certain people, producing in any medium is taxing and perhaps even takes a bit of them each time they develop a story, song or visual piece.
And for some, it's the progeny that sucks the life right out.
Jake called this morning, half an hour before he needed to go to work, I had just invited friends over for breakfast, and they were on their way, but for some forsaken reason I felt compelled to go and pick him up and bring him, lest it be that easy, when he got in the car, he informed me that his apron and work shirt were elsewhere.
I ranted for a bit, about no warning and how I would seem so flaky to my guests, by not being there when I had invited them, and blah, blah, blah, when I realized and said to him, how much do you have to keep track of that you left half of your clothes there.
I've been overwhelmed of late, due to the pull of so many and so much, yet I seem to manage to keep all of my shit together, or at least on the surface.