I’m not a workaholic, I swear

After the post I wrote most recently and some discussions I’ve had with people in various parts of my life, I’ve run across a fair number of people who seem to think that this schedule I’ve been living, this logging of 60-70 hours of work a week, minimum, is fun.  That I do it because I like it and that somehow I’m not aware that it is inherently bad for me.

They are so, SO very wrong.  But they refuse to understand that this has been a matter of survival.  This has been the way that I’ve adapted to keep us afloat and alive and not living on the streets.  So few people truly understand that our economy here in the US has fundamentally changed.  Geoff and I are living proof that the old way, each having one job, having some security in that job, buying a house, and then eventually retiring just isn’t the way things work anymore.

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Basil and the pothole from hell

Poor Basil.  He has suffered immensely this winter.  Still, our Mini Cooper has, like us, managed to survive this record-breaking winter and has been buried in snow more times than I can recall.  At least digging him out isn’t so bad most of the time since he is so small.  And it certainly makes it easier to park in narrow spots nestled between snow piles.

But getting through this winter unscathed was not meant to be, I guess.  Last night, on Route 99 where it goes under Rutherford Ave in Charlestown, we hit what was probably the biggest pothole I have ever seen, at least on a road that wasn’t being washed out underneath.

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