Like a lingering summer cold you just can’t seem to shake, I’m back. Condolences or congratulations? Your pick.
You knew I couldn’t be quiet for long. I have way too much to say (“Know it all”). Maybe it comes from living alone and spending a lot of time in contemplation. Or, maybe it’s because I’m a writer and — hey! — writers have to write. Whatever the cause or curse, again your pick, I’m back. I’ll try not to bore you with my ramblings.
I originally posted the poem, “I’m tired,” (see below) in late June — before Pegasus went quiet — but deleted it because I didn’t want to spread negativity. I am re-posting it now in the interests of completeness and honesty.
While in Mesilla Valley Hospital — a locked psychiatric hospital — from 27 July to 3 August, I drew an addendum to the poem:
I’m tired of everything.
I’m tired of grocery shopping at Walmart.
I’m tired of cleaning.
I’m tired of working on my book. It’s too hard and what difference does it make anyway? None.
I’m tired of doing art. It’s lost its play.
I’m tired of driving. The thought of going anywhere exhausts me to tears.
I’m tired of summer in the high desert. Tired of the heat, tired of the wind.
I’m tired of living a life wide open.
I’m tired of infinite possibilities.
I’m tired of not knowing.
I’m really tired of being alone.
Over 50 years of being alone.
I’m tired of planning a future alone. What future exactly?
Five years on the road. I thought I finally found what I was looking for — a home in a place, a home in a purpose, a home in a man. I was wrong. Now it’s back to the beginning and I’m fucking tired of going back to the beginning.
An uncertain future alone.
I’m not tired of drinking wine or margaritas.
Pour me another please.
Counting down the days until.
P.S. – Lest you worry about my mental state Dear Reader, please don’t. As many have said, “This too shall pass.” I just wish that it passes tout de suite.