I remember summers being fun. Well, there was work, of course. Dad was a bricklayer, and as teenagers it was expected we'd go to work with him.
Some mornings were easier than others. I recall, with some guilt, feigning sleep one morning in the bedroom I had at the back of the garage until I heard Dad's truck roar to life and disappear. Then my day began. Nothing was said when he got home, but I knew I'd done wrong. So days like that were rare.
I'm beginning to have days like that now. Just like Dad, I get the Sunday Scaries and don't want to go to work tomorrow.
But . . .
I'm the only line of defense between our family and poverty. I don't say that in any way to complain; it's just how things are at the moment. Michelle has been offered a salaried job with a local nonprofit for about $40,000 a year, which isn't much compared to our needs, but it certainly would help us make a dent in things. I don't know as yet what decision she's made on the job, but will support her whichever direction she decides to go.
I have at least ten years until I can retire. I keep checking our retirement accounts to see how they're doing, and they're growing slow but steady, which is what you want to see in such accounts. Still, part of me wishes they were growing faster so I could retire faster, but I'm going to have to stick things out.
I often think the cure is time off work. But though I take a day off here and there -- not all that many of those -- it doesn't help. I feel like I need a good block of time, minimum two weeks, to get a reset. I'll get a little bit of a break for about seven weeks starting in August when the online teaching gig takes a breather. and while that's welcome it often doesn't feel like enough.
Yes, I did just whinge about this. It's a constant theme in my life.
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