I know what you are thinking: BLASPHEMY! No? Damn. Sundays seem to wear me down and grind my bones. I know it is because in the back of my mind I am worrying about work. Even when I am off I still worry about it; about what inventory problem will arise or what incredibly frustrating thing a coworker will do. I worry about messing up on payroll, I worry about making sure I have ordered the right amount of product all at a wage far below what other companies would be paying someone to do the same work. It isn’t about the money; I could be making twice or three times the money and I would still hate it. In reality how many people are actually doing something they love as a job? My wife asks me often if there was a time I can remember being happy. The most satisfied I have been is staying home with the kids and watching them grow up. I always felt as if I was accomplishing something worth while. I taught guitar two evenings a week and I was doing a lot of volunteer work for Manitoba Mutts Dog Rescue. I felt like my life had a purpose. I wasn’t working all the time which left me calmer and in a state of almost normalcy. So why did I leave that behind? Money for one thing (Dawn was working retail at the time) and the pressure to be the “man” and go out and provide for my family. I realize that I should know better than to fall for that stereotype, but it’s hard to get away from. I don’t know what to do with this now, though. Where do I go from here? Sometimes I just want to submerge my head and let it all just disappear. Sometimes I just can’t make the hard choices. Sometimes I’d rather be miserable than risk having someone think poorly of me. In the end, what will it matter?