tired
I have been working most of my life. I started “real” jobs at age 11, paying taxes and social security – the whole bit – but even before that I was hustling for this and that.
During my K-5 years, I was always doing something for change. In our apartments you had to walk your trash a goodly distance over to communal dumpsters. I set up a deal with a bunch of tenants to carry their bags for them – a quarter a bag – starting around 2nd grade.
Around that same time, I would buy bags of candy at the store, load up my pockets every morning, then sell Jolly Ranchers to the other kids at twice the price. I did that for years. We weren’t supposed to have candy in school, of course. In a way I was dealing drugs – the oh-so-addictive drug of sugar.
I collected aluminum cans. There was a stint selling newspapers at various grocery stores on the weekends, back when people bought newspapers from little kids in hats and aprons. Any time I passed a pay phone or soda machine I stuck my fingers in the change slot, always hopeful, and sometimes lucky.
I handed out flyers for a surf shop on the beach in exchange for t-shirts. One of the hotels in Galveston hired me as a “porter.” That’s service industry lingo for someone that carries bags and does chores at a hotel, though I have never heard the term used by anyone since then. My favorite thing at that job was cleaning the pool equipment and raising the flag.
I was a busboy for years in a restaurant then moved on to a grocery store where I picked up hours any way I could … cashier, stocker, floral, video department (we rented VHS tapes) – anything path that led to greenbacks.
While I was in the Air Force, I accumulated some debt and worked a 2nd job to pay it off – first as a gas station clerk, then later as a delivery guy for Papa John’s. A couple of years later I tried to flesh out my writing and started working on novels. I managed to knock out a few books and that fulfilling in a way I can’t truly express in words, as ironic as that might be.
For a year after I got out of the military, I was Mr. Mom. Drove kids to school, cleaned house, and continued writing. I subbed at the schools and volunteered.
Now I am at what might be my final job doing administrative work at a university. It’s fun to me. Instead of writing, I have been designing book covers and logos in the evening. If you connect the dots, my interest in this started with my own book covers. It’s a truly relaxing thing for me and I make some money, to boot.
But … and as they say, there is always a but … I’m tired. I feel this very deep exhaustion that goes way beyond taking a day off or sleeping late to recuperate. I have joked that it’s long covid, and who knows, maybe it really is, but I don’t think so because it’s been building for some time.
Have you ever felt that way, dear reader?
Sincerely yours,
Mr. Tired
During my K-5 years, I was always doing something for change. In our apartments you had to walk your trash a goodly distance over to communal dumpsters. I set up a deal with a bunch of tenants to carry their bags for them – a quarter a bag – starting around 2nd grade.
Around that same time, I would buy bags of candy at the store, load up my pockets every morning, then sell Jolly Ranchers to the other kids at twice the price. I did that for years. We weren’t supposed to have candy in school, of course. In a way I was dealing drugs – the oh-so-addictive drug of sugar.
I collected aluminum cans. There was a stint selling newspapers at various grocery stores on the weekends, back when people bought newspapers from little kids in hats and aprons. Any time I passed a pay phone or soda machine I stuck my fingers in the change slot, always hopeful, and sometimes lucky.
I handed out flyers for a surf shop on the beach in exchange for t-shirts. One of the hotels in Galveston hired me as a “porter.” That’s service industry lingo for someone that carries bags and does chores at a hotel, though I have never heard the term used by anyone since then. My favorite thing at that job was cleaning the pool equipment and raising the flag.
I was a busboy for years in a restaurant then moved on to a grocery store where I picked up hours any way I could … cashier, stocker, floral, video department (we rented VHS tapes) – anything path that led to greenbacks.
While I was in the Air Force, I accumulated some debt and worked a 2nd job to pay it off – first as a gas station clerk, then later as a delivery guy for Papa John’s. A couple of years later I tried to flesh out my writing and started working on novels. I managed to knock out a few books and that fulfilling in a way I can’t truly express in words, as ironic as that might be.
For a year after I got out of the military, I was Mr. Mom. Drove kids to school, cleaned house, and continued writing. I subbed at the schools and volunteered.
Now I am at what might be my final job doing administrative work at a university. It’s fun to me. Instead of writing, I have been designing book covers and logos in the evening. If you connect the dots, my interest in this started with my own book covers. It’s a truly relaxing thing for me and I make some money, to boot.
But … and as they say, there is always a but … I’m tired. I feel this very deep exhaustion that goes way beyond taking a day off or sleeping late to recuperate. I have joked that it’s long covid, and who knows, maybe it really is, but I don’t think so because it’s been building for some time.
Have you ever felt that way, dear reader?
Sincerely yours,
Mr. Tired
No comments have been added yet.
