Wednesday, November 9, 2011


I don't feel tired.  In fact, I feel rather energetic.  Probably as energetic as a man my age can expect to be . . . and perhaps more energetic than most younger men.  I'm usually up early.  Sometimes the first in the gym.  I work a full day; I write a full day.  I eat fewer donuts.  I usually cook dinner.  I am typically the last to go to bed.

But several friends have recently commented:  "You look tired."

Tired?  As in Geritol tired?  Tired blood?  Nahhh!

I point out that I may just be getting old. I woke up a few minutes ago with a pain in my left shoulder that nearly brought tears to my eyes.  My wife tells me it's arthritis.  But whatever it is--a torn rotator cuff, strained muscle, or uncle arthur--I keep lifting through it.  And I write through it, too.

Becky points out that I've been doing the bulk of my late-night writing from the couch.  But I'm just relaxed.  I write my best love poems from a prone position.

When I really want to get serious about writing, I go vertical.

No, I'm not tired.  All it takes is a few conversations with editors, a contract or two, and I'm up all night. 

Pass the coffee and Tylenol.

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