THE FUSE

For most of my life, I've described myself the way many Americans do. I'm exhausted. Burned out. Running on fumes. I just need to get through this week. I just need to push a little harder. Those expressions have always seemed perfectly ordinary to me, but recently I noticed something they all have in common. They imagine me as a machine. A battery that needs recharging. A candle that's burned too long. An engine that's overheating. In every case, I stop because something has gone wrong.