Can hard work kill you?

Publish Date: 
Oct 29, 2012
By Rick Fairless

DEAR GRANDMA AND GRANDPA, I hope Heaven is treating y’all good. I’m sorry it’s been so long since my last letter. We have been really busy here at Strokers Dallas.

Can I ask a couple of stupid questions? So, how does Heaven work?

Is God the owner and is Jesus, like, the GM up there? Have you actually met them? How about Mother Mary, is she beautiful like her picture? Are all those disciples up there to make sure everybody walks a fine line — kinda like bouncers? What if somebody screws up while they’re in Heaven? Do they go, like, ya know, south? There are a few knuckleheads everywhere, so I’m sure there are some in Heaven, too.

Hey, Grandpa, I was mowing my yard the other day and I remembered when you taught me and Ran how to mow using your old push mower. It didn’t have a motor and the blades spun as you pushed it. The faster you pushed it, the faster the blades spun. Man, that was hard work; we couldn’t have been no more than 8 or 9 years old.

Remember, Grandpa, I tried to run over Ran’s foot and you whacked me upside the head? Yeah, I know, it wasn’t so funny at the time but it’s kinda funny now, although probably not to Ran. How about the time when we were 6 years old, and me and Ran and Deanna climbed the big tree out front and I tied a rope around Ran’s neck. I was fixin to push him outta the tree. Deanna started squealing like a stuck pig and you came running out hollering at us. That was the maddest I ever saw you, Grandpa, and afterward I couldn’t sit down for a week. (I had seen an episode of “Gunsmoke” where they hung a horse thief. Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.)

Speaking of family, let me ask y’all this, because I think I may be screwing up. I work so much that I never spend any time with my family, unless they come up here to Strokers Dallas to see me. I work every day from 5 a.m. ‘til 7 p.m., eight days a week. I NEVER take a day off, and that’s the problem. The only time I’m not here at Strokers Dallas is when I’m out of town, and that’s few and far-between. When I do go out of town, it’s always for a motorcycle function.

I don’t know why I can’t make myself take a day off. Every day is exactly the same. I get up, I go to the gym for one hour, then I come to work for 14 hours, then I go home, eat supper, watch TV for an hour, go to bed, wake up and repeat. I really think something is wrong with me.

I can’t make myself or my mind sit still; just constant motion. I would love to be able to get up like a normal person and read the paper and eat breakfast and relax a little, but I can’t. I’ve tried to relax before, but I mentally and physically cannot do it. I always have to be accomplishing something.

I know hard workers run in our family, but everybody else can at least kick back a little on the weekends. How come I can’t? Ten years ago I decided I was gonna take Mondays off. I tried… and I couldn’t, not even once. Then I decided I would at least take a long lunch and go see a movie with Sue every Monday. That lasted about a month. The last new release I saw was “Animal House.” (Well, maybe I’ve seen a couple of movies since then, but not many.) My family thinks I’m an idiot who’s gonna have a heart attack someday soon. Can hard work kill ya? I’m praying not. (Continued)