I Wake Up, and I’m Tired.

I woke up this morning with the same realization that I make every day: I’m tired.

Some things in my life are undeniably better. I know I am rested. Even if I sleep well, eat well, live well, I don’t manage to quite feel well. But acknowledging that gap between knowing and feeling doesn’t make it better. And so, intrusively, that thought follows my steps, like a drum beat to my heart: I’m tired, I’m tired, I’m tired.

And feeling shallow, feeling weak, feeling guilty, feeling privileged, I still struggle. Even when there’s nothing to struggle against. Even when the currents are easy, I drown just a little bit. Feeling dramatic considering I’m tolerating the intolerable when many would not consider it that hard at all. But again, knowing and feeling don’t often agree, and who am I to judge which is more valid? They can both be their own truths. And still, that doesn’t make it better.

But I get up, and I shower, and I work. And I talk to people, sometimes; and so sometimes I laugh, sometimes I cry. I keep on living, the days that are okay, and the days that aren’t. And even though that thought keeps its dull beat, even when I feel it in every corner of my body, I still have ambitions. I find myself wanting. Changing. Like maybe I’m not tired of life, simply tired of this life. And somewhere inside I know there’s hope for that, or a fraction of that, even. And so, as I am in this life, I live, tired as I might be.

But I still dream.

That has got to mean something.