The problem with having so much of my identity tied up with my job, of course, is that when things don't go well, I have no other pillar to rely on. I, Chance, am not father, nor husband, nor long-term lover.
Hell, I'm not even a zealous hobbyist. Those aspects of life don't exist for me; after a setback, all I have is time to reflect on the success or failure of my professional day.
It doesn't even have to be anything specific, just a general sense of malaise that the day could have gone better. That can blacken the whole rest of my evening. Well, that's what happens when you're a depressive sad sack.
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