I realized the other day that I am retired. Wait, what? Yep, retired. That label applies to me.
With that whole blowing up thing last year, I've retired from being a pyrotechnician. This breaks my heart. With the season rapidly approaching, I find myself wistful. While I know that it's a mature decision to retire, there's a part of me that wants to stamp my feet and protest. I am not ready to retire!
And, a few years ago I retired from my job. Well, I can look at it as a retirement now, just not then. But it was as such. I'm not returning to that field again. I feel too old to pursue that job any longer. Viola: retirement! (how's that for re-visualization?)
The MG is seven years older than me. This means he will be eligible to retire seven years before me. Hopefully, this won't be an issue at that time. Hopefully I will be an established author by then. But it's amazing to me that the issue is beginning to loom on the horizon. Remember? Remember when we were 20? Those were good times.
I guess it's good that I am doing it in small steps then. Less of a brutal reality. I'm sneaking up on it. Yeah, that's it.
((I'm still pouting))
2 comments:
You know what freaked me the heck out was realizing that it's only 15 years until I'm 50. I don't know why that particular math problem gave me the creeps, but it did. I think it's because I've only been thinking about FORTY---but FIFTY still seemed like my PARENTS' age.
Augh! Don't make me do the math! That makes it worse! I'm doing the Big 4-0 thing in six months too.
When did this become my reality?
It's not fair! *foot stomp*
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