"a day's work"

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What once might have been a pleasant walk in the woods is now strangely exhausting ... as if I had actually done a day's work.

-- This morning I spent time writing a response in an Internet lion's den of Roman Catholic Church supporters. What I wrote wasn't very good and it wasn't very long, but it took some research and some thinking and now I feel a bit like a teddy bear that has lost much of its stuffing. You might think I had done a day's work.

-- Yesterday, by invitation, I went to visit Michael Erard and his wife for "lunch." Michael is the fellow who wrote the compelling narrative of his time as an Army medic during the Vietnam war ... a narrative I posted earlier on this blog. I arrived at Michael's home at noon and didn't get home until after 6. The food was delicious and so was the company. But I missed my old fart's nap and found myself utterly drained by the evening hours before bed. You might think I had done a day's work.

Aging gracefully may be a capacity others don without missing a beat, but I am not among them. There is still a mind and voice that remembers 16-hour days after which I was ready for more. What the hell?! Writing isn't "work." Thinking isn't "work." Eating a wonderful lunch and conversing with wonderful people isn't "work."

Compared to "work," that's sissy stuff, right?

Only, if I were more graceful, I would have to acknowledge that it is "work." I can tell it's work by the level of fatigue it engenders.

I guess I hate the facts of life as much as the next fellow.
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