Work is suddenly icky.
But then I remember things like:
My brother once dated a woman who was a mortician and raised miniature horses.
The father of a friend has retired from service with the IRS, where he worked seizing property and performing IRS raids. Each Christmas, he earned some extra holiday cash being Santa Claus at the mall.
My father was once shot by his brother, who then had to carry him back home. Dad has since earned a living as a construction worker, a radio announcer for baseball games, a bull rider and a bus driver. He's fallen several stories on a construction job, fallen down a well at home, flown out the front windshield of his pickup, and survived two bouts of skin cancer.
Ain't life grand?