![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfaJrZkgtH6NfeelmdpeHrINZRF2relZNJTSzCpiOnMwgb-ttu9RazY-X70amf0nRu4hdcvVLQ5GJs7csHin-jjMaZUfpsx_E6-5INY5A80RYnh1xGV5wm0DYk8XMygR5O7UFNkfXRozC/s200/family-circus.gif)
Sometimes I relate very well to that young boy Jeffy. When life gets too much for me, my first instinct is to run and hide. It is a form of protection and self-preservation. Now I don't hide out in the closet or under the bed or in a locked room. In fact I tend to hide out in the open, usually at my workplace, where I dutifully go about my business. I believe that I do this because when I am at work, I am most comfortable, most myself, most in control of my world. Work has been my hiding place for as long as I can remember. Yet, like that young boy in the comic strip, everybody is looking down on me, knowing all the while that something is not right, that something has been broken in my house.