I’m not even exactly sure what I mean by that just yet. I’m kind of writing by the seat of my pants. Actually, I’m not … no, on second thought that’s more than you needed to know. I was just sitting here thinking about work (I’m writing this on Friday night) and what its like to finish off the week. No, its more than that. I’m thinking about what it’s like to go to work five days a week, and what keeps me going back. I could say all of the proper family man things like: “I work because I have responsibilities at home” … and so on. That is a good reason, but not necessarily the one I was thinking of. Hell, my wife makes more that I do. I’ve never seen myself as, nor do I think others see me as, a man’s man a la 1950 (THANK GOD). I go to work because I like to go to work. In general, I like my job. It may not always seem like it, especially lately. I’ve been kind of run down by this thing that seems like a cold without quite being a cold, so I’ve looked and felt kind of disheveled. Anyway, illness or not, I can’t imagine making through five days a week if I weren’t working for myself.