I’m tired. No, I’m really tired. Eyes drooping, fingers losing their punch. It’s 11:28 on a Friday night. And I’m toast. Probably just fallout from being on vacation last week. But I haven’t written here in a while and figured now’s as good a time as any. What could go wrong? It’s not like I have subscribers or anything. I’m watching (listening) to baseball on TV via the internet streamed over wifi. I’m in geek in denial. Jesus, I’m tired. It feels old to feel this tired. There’s no excuse. I need to exercise more. But really, I get about 5 hours sleep a night, and sometimes it catches up with you. You’re laughing? You try being 45. Not that I’m complaining. The alternative to growing older sucks. When you’re young, you think “I have all the time in the world.” But what that really means is you have no concept of time. Here’s what I’ve learned – you have only the time you have right now. And it’s the same time everyone else has. You don’t have 20 years from now. Just now. Then, when you least expect it, you’re 45 with two kids, a wife, some dogs and a live-in mother in-law. If you’re lucky! And then it hits you – you’re standing on second base taking a short lead. Trying to read the catcher’s signs and time the pitcher. I tutored some children this morning. Nine year old boys. I don’t know how we got onto the subject, but I started talking about how when I was a child we used to have bomb drills because of Cuba. “How old are you, 40?” One of the boys asked. “Ninety-seven.” I said. “Oh.” he said, “I was close.”

The house is quiet. The dogs are down. And one of the kids just shouted “SUPERHERO” in their sleep, scaring the shit out of me. I am a shepherd.


Jim Mitchem

Won't Get Fooled Again
Life Without a Head

Jim Mitchem

Writer. Father to daughters. Husband. Ad man. Raised by wolves. @jmitchem on twitter. First novel, Minor King, out now.