I really don’t understand this retirement gig. I never worked this damn hard when I was (over) paid for what I did.
I know. All those years of experience, knowing and rarely telling where the bodies were buried. They paid me with hush money and free coffee.
Now I work for the worst slave driver of my life: relentless me. And I am not giving myself a good review or a raise.
Too many goals I’ve missed by miles, shabby work posted for the world to see. No pay, no benefits, but staff meetings are mercifully short. Praise social programs and media.
Art supplies going dry. Travel bennies unused. Zoom training ignored in favor of you tubes and naps in the afternoon.
The sexual harassment policy, while mild is embarrassing, even though nobody knows how it all goes. Breaks lead to fun honey-dos I often prefer.
Don’t get me wrong. I love retirement. The highlight of some days is wasting time in erotically creative ways. I love to say that tired cliché, “been there and done that.” Experience never gets old.
When I look both ways, seeing more past than future, it’s telling.
I mind the gaps as best I can, and I still hope for a happy ending to my wildly romantic life.
I shall allow Robert Anthony De Niro Jr. (as old Ben) show me the way.