Worn out

I am physically weak and in bad shape. I don't walk, I trudge. There is no skip in my step. I'm 59, but it's not my age, I'm sure of that.

Today I was lying on the grass at Barton Springs in Austin, wondering why I was so tired. At first, I was worried that there was something wrong like a medical problem. No, it couldn't be that.

What it is, this fatigue, is the result of years of hard living. I try to do too many hard, difficult, and impossible things. I involve myself in harsh conflict, internal and external. It's simple to explain -- I have worn myself out, and I have little idea how to rest, or enjoy myself, or be comfortable.

Too much failure. This is not shameful. Successful people are merely those ones who do the easist thing in front of them -- no wonder they succeed!

And they say success is an illusion. Yes, it is, but so is failure.

And physical vitality is an illusion, and so is illness.

It's all an illusion, as John Kaguras once told me.

But I'm still tired -- running around the country, trying to fix everything, wanting to be in love, chasing rainbows, fearing for my life. No wonder I'm exhausted.

If I could just reach around to my back and push the easy button, and throw the go-lightly switch, and take happy pills -- then I would be dancing again.

Melodies, sunsets, picnics, old times, playing with babies and puppies, swimmin' in the pond, dropping by someone's house and they're glad to see me, being a goddam tourist for once in my life, instead of on some perpetual, authentic journey.