A powerful storm just blew through. I heard it coming for about twenty minutes before it arrived. Then the rain, the thunder, and then. . . "POP!" The lights dimmed, went out, and came back on. The power box outside my house was the source of the pop. I was certain some circuit had blown, some electronics had been irrevocably damaged, but as of yet, I've found nothing. Still my skin crawls. Popping electricity is never a good sound.
Nor, for me, is the rain. The roofing man comes at nine this morning. I will have to deal with that.
My tax guy called.
I have medical bills that are overdue.
Adulting, as they say, is very, very hard. I am too old to begin now. But I can't figure out how to avoid it. I've never learned the lessons one needs to learn. I've been frivolous and cavalier. You can't be that so much any more, at least I can't. There is more paperwork with retirement. The corporation has taken care of everything so far, the money, the insurance, retirement. Now they just hand me a folder full of papers and tell me "good luck." I don't know how to do any of this.
I'm good at buying cameras. Nothing about that is in the folder.
I thought retirement was going to be about eating well, exercising, meditating, writing, and taking photographs. I can see now that it is all going to be about worry.
Should I drink so much coffee? Am I getting enough fruit and nuts and vegetables? I should probably eat more fish. And alcohol? I'll need to consult my physician.
Or my swami.
I've had a good run, but poor old Uncle Joe is just a metonym. Old people have had it. Even Elizabeth Warren.
I should have read my Shakespeare more closely, I guess. He told the tale.
All's well that ends well.
ReplyDeleteYou are retiring? Congratulations. :)
Don't you have a very young live in girlfriend? Isn't that what all old retired men dream about?
Robinson
BY Weldon Kees
The dog stops barking after Robinson has gone.
His act is over. The world is a gray world,
Not without violence, and he kicks under the grand piano,
The nightmare chase well under way.
The mirror from Mexico, stuck to the wall,
Reflects nothing at all. The glass is black.
Robinson alone provides the image Robinsonian.
Which is all of the room—walls, curtains,
Shelves, bed, the tinted photograph of Robinson’s first wife,
Rugs, vases, panatellas in a humidor.
They would fill the room if Robinson came in.
The pages in the books are blank,
The books that Robinson has read. That is his favorite chair,
Or where the chair would be if Robinson were here.
All day the phone rings. It could be Robinson
Calling. It never rings when he is here.
Outside, white buildings yellow in the sun.
Outside, the birds circle continuously
Where trees are actual and take no holiday.
Sure. I'm going to retire and raise a family :)
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