Are you tired?

God, that photo really does seem two years old, at least. But it sort of captures how I feel most nights, especially Monday nights: tired.

Yesterday one of my big stories fell through and I had to work late and start again early to meet my deadline. It took my about two hours to get home, instead of the usual 1.25 hours, because there were big rallies here in New York yesterday and all the trains were full.

So I was pretty irritated by the time I got home. And my daughter wanted to play. She was excited to see me. She wanted to take a bath and jump on my chest. And I could barely function I was so exhausted. Epp wanted to talk to me and I couldn't really react or respond. All I did was lie on the bed and wish I could somehow withdraw from all of these different demands and relax. Not do anything else - no other priorities here - just to breathe without thought for a few precious moments.

Even through the night I woke up every hour, knowing I had to rise at 4 am to write more for my issue. Work, you see, is often more important than family.

I wonder, will this be my child's impression of her father as she grows up. Of a guy that was fun on weekends but shuffled home every evening to pass out and groan on the couch? Yeah, everybody works hard I guess. And I work near a lot of hard workers in lower Manhattan that don't look so hot.

In some ways I feel I am denying her something. It doesn't feel good.