Tired...

...even though I didn't really do anything today.

And it's not because I got next to no sleep last night, waking up (for some unknown reason) roughly every 15 minutes. I finally gave up and crawled out of the rack at 4:00.

I'm tired, I suspect, simply because I didn't do anything.

In many instances -- today would have been one of them if things had worked out -- I have to be both a reporter/observer and something of an entertainer. I go out and almost inevitably do something strenuous (and on occasion, slightly dangerous) in front of interested strangers.

When I finish my little turn on "stage," I must talk to the bystanders, seem enthusiastic even if I have just had a rotten time, never getting comfortable in my environment and -- it happens -- scaring the bejeebers out of myself.

Even when the planets are in alignment and I impress the hell out of me and the "audience," what I immediately wish to do is find a corner and write pages of notes while the experience is fresh. I want to do that every time, frankly. That's what I'm there for.

Instead, I get to answer those "what's it like out there?" questions, make nice to whoever made the whole thing possible and assure him (almost inevitably a "him") that I haven't had as much fun since the last time I got...well..for a long time, let's say.

The reason I mention this is that I realized something on the angry drive home this morning: it wasn't so much that I was angry at D. for screwing up and wasting my day as I was coming down harshly from having unconsciously prepared myself in advance for the experience.

I've never been aware of it before, but before I get to whatever place this happens, I start sharpening my nerve endings, concentrating on the task ahead, and preparing myself to do my thing in public. I wouldn't be surprised if my vision and hearing improve slightly; I know I sense more of what's going on around me.

Ninety-nine times out of 100, I do the thing, then sit back and relax after. I feel tired, but not that tired.

Getting ready and then not doing it is even more tiring.

D'you suppose this is how a bullfighter feels if that oversize chunk o' beef he's to face keels over before it even gets out of the gate?

Probably not. But I'm exhausted anyway.

And I'm still pig-biting mad.