Sunday, October 28, 2012


I like to think I work hard. I like to think I train hard. I provide for my kids. I provide for my wife. I provide for the mop-headed dog, even. I don't ask for much. I sacrifice and make sure everyone around me has what they need. All at my own personal expense. 

So I don't feel guilty for spending a few dollars and a few hours decompressing my crushed spirit and recharging my dwindling internal batteries. Okay, my relaxing happens to take place in an Irish pub. It includes a couple of pints of Woodchuck cider. Occasionally some Rotel dip. Sometimes hearing a local band. If that's a crime, I'm guilty as charged.

I'm not going to sit in a silent house, trying not to wake the sleeping masses, and idle my remaining sane years away. I think I earn some solace. Anyone who feels otherwise needs to speak now. Or forever hold your peace. In the meanwhile, you know where to find me. 

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