Early March, early Sunday morning, and I’m driving to work.
The sun is brilliant, dancing off the snow in natural,
fleeting beauty as
Sunday papers are being read, and coffee sipped.
Minds are at ease.
There is not much traffic, and my thoughts bounce back and
forth
between the nature of responsibility, and a sense of sadness.
I am old enough to believe that working on Sundays is not
natural.
As a bartender and in retail, I vowed never to work Sundays
and held on as long as I could.
That vow has recently been broken because the pay is good
and we need the money.
I have made a deal with the devil.
A deal that has put me on this road when I’d rather be home
with my wife
reading, sipping coffee, and easing my mind.
You draw a line in life until you are forced to cross it,
then you draw another.
Pretty soon there is no room left for even one thin line.
I try to focus on the surrounding beauty and the
peacefulness of the ride, but purity is tainted by reality.
I have never become comfortable with compromise.
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