I'm Tired

I’m Tired


I’m tired. Not just physically tired like when you work all day doing some heavy lifting or construction, but mentally tired as well. I am exhausted in every definition of the word. Every muscle aches, my bones aches, and my head aches. I can’t even think straight. I am amazed that I was able to get back to my apartment without damaging something. I don’t want to move. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. I’m just so damn tired. The kind of tired that seems to seep into every fiber and weigh you down to the point of blissful paralysis and not let you go until you have rested.

Did I pass out? How long have I been in this chair? All I remember is coming in and dropping into my favorite easy chair and laying my head back to rest. I must have fallen asleep. Now I only have my eyes open but the room is still dark. I don’t think that I could move anything other than my eyelids right now. I didn’t turn on any lights when I got home. I couldn’t stand the light at this point anyway. Well, at least its still night. But is it the same night? I feel so tried that I could sleep for a week. Maybe I did.

I would like to get up and get a drink. Something strong. I hear all the time from my friends how they relax after being out all day; they come home, grab a stiff drink, plop down on the couch and relax, the liquor taking the edge off their nerves. Unfortunately, alcohol doesn’t affect me. I mean I can literally drink as many bottles as I want to and never get drunk. The only effects being a raging bladder and trips to the can for hours. I once drank five bottles of Jack Daniels and didn’t feel a thing. Maybe if I drank ten or more it would help. Probably not.

The phone is ringing. Great, just what I need. Probably the boss wanting me to come in for some big assignment. Well, he will just have to do without me tonight. What is his deal anyway? He hounds me all day to go out and get a great story and turn it in so it can be in the night’s paper and then complain that I’m not doing enough. He complains that I am gone for hours at a time without any warning or explanation as to where I have been. It’s none of his damn business anyway what I do with my time. I turn in the stories and have even won a few awards for my articles. What more does he want?

And don’t get me started on my co-workers. What a bunch of whining, insecure, no talent hacks. ‘Why does he get all the best assignments?’ ‘He doesn’t have to stay at work all day, why does he get to leave?” I can hear their complaints swirling around in my head. Sometimes I wonder why I even took that job. At first it was because I could get all the reports of crime quickly but with today’s technology I could stay home and use a computer and police scanner and get everything I need just as fast if not faster. It would keep me from having to put up with all the bellyaching.


It seems that I am never done with helping people. There is always something going on that I have to help with. They were grateful at first but now it appears they want me to do everything for them, even things they can do for themselves. It is my own fault I guess. Once I started helping with mundane things for one person, everyone came to expect it. Saving people from a plane crash or bringing down Intergang or defeating Mongul are major events that I am needed for, not clearing traffic. I am not a domestic dispute judge, so why do they insist on it from me? That is for the police and the courts to handle. Every time I turn around it seems there is something else for me to fix, someone else in trouble or some idiot who thinks he can subjugate the world. It never seems to end.

I wish I didn’t have these powers sometimes. I wish I could walk down the street as myself and not be bothered by anyone to fix their problems, especially when they can, and should, do it themselves. I do not have a limitless supply of energy, I get tired too. And what is with Lois anyway. I have never seen anyone as nosey as she. She is constantly trying to figure out who I really am. She already knows! Everybody knows. And it is not this alter ego I have to pretend to be. It’s me, Kal-el, a farm boy from a distant planet.

And this symbol on my chest is not an S. It is the Kryptonian symbol for the House of El, a much respected house in its time. I have told her that more than a few times but these people and their predilection for ignoring the truth in place of their own version of it are maddening. Oh great, a police siren speeding down the street. This looks like a job for…the police. That is what they are there for. I have to keep reminding myself of that or else I’ll be out like I was for the past three days; doing everything for everyone.

I guess I have it better than some. No matter what he does, Bruce can’t escape his demons. Even after he goes home they are always with him. I’m glad he stopped drinking; it was bad for a while. J’ onn doesn’t have another identity, so he can’t even find any peace unless he is hiding. He has told me many times that he would just like to walk to the store and get a few things with out getting stared at, fingers pointed in his direction and the snide comments. I wonder what people would do if they knew he could hear them no matter how they whisper.

Oh, jeez, my neck is getting stiff. Maybe I shouldn’t try to move just yet. But I’m hungry. I should just order a pizza; I don’t feel like cooking anything. These boots are killing me; I’ll just take them off. Snap, crackle and pop, my back isn’t what it used to be. I guess there is no putting it off. I have to get up and get something to eat and then hit the bed. I’ll just leave the cape and boots here on the chair. Ohhhhh, it feels good to stretch and walk around bare foot.

Now, where did I leave the phone book? Oh well, I think I remember the number. “Hello, Dominos?...”