That's It, I'm Spent

That's it, I'm spent. I've been back in Texas since July 17. I've written three cover stories, four inside features, eight short pieces, a couple of official blogs on the Fort Worth Weekly Blotch page, contributed to the Best of and Turkey (worst of) editions of the paper, done freelance work for a business mag and written 5 Drug War Follies Columns for Skunk magazine. I've prayed and done sings for a lot of people who asked for help. Don't know if I helped but tried. I've hosted a dozen or more people here in that time, fed a lot of good people good food. I've taken care of the dog and cat and seen to the house. I've tried to be there for my kids--though I'm probably a second rate parent. I've loved those I love as best I can, I've mowed the lawn, I've dealt with the people taking part of my meager acreage for the new road entrance, dealt with a 15-year-old Madeleina through the travails of being 15 years old, made recommendations to sick people, sent out the medicnes I had until there are none left here in the house and now I am nearly done. Time for me to spread my wings and take people out to the jungle and up into the high mountains. Time for me to breathe good air. Time to forget computers and read a good mystery or two. Time for a drink on the boulevard without having to think that I need four more interviews to fill out my story. Time to rejuvenate with life that has different parameters. I know I will miss my kids. I know I will miss my desk, my house, my own cooking. But I also need the open space, the canoe at night in the jungle, the stars overhead, the intensity of catching the snake without getting bitten. And so now I'm one Drug War Follies column away from leaving for Peru with a clean conscience that I did my work here. And then there is a list three feet long of things I need to get done before I leave but none of it makes me beholden to publishers or editors. I love my work. I'm one lucky bastard for getting to do what I love, but I also get tired of it. I need a break every five months or so for 6-8 weeks to get the juices flowing again. And now I'm nearly on it. And I'm already crying about leaving Madeleina. And I'm praying Boots, the blind wonderdog doesn't bite anyone while I'm gone, and hoping my kids remember to feed him and the cats and to keep the rodent population down in the house while no one is living there. So I'm torn. But what I know is that it is time to get away. To see the world through my other eyes. To get refreshed. And now, tonight, having put to bed the last story I have to write for my regular publication, I'm feeling suddenly lighter.
   I will miss you all. Thank you for having the patience to read through  my stories and comments. When you feel blue, just imagine me having a drink on the boulevard in Iquitos after 10 days out in the deep jungle, dirt under my fingernails and a smile on my lips. I wish you could join me. Happy New Year, everyone. Hold those you love tight.