Just Maybe

[degringolade]

Abstract Expressionism / Joan Mitchell/ City Landscape

First day back blues.  As expected, though fervently hoped against, the posse of laziness that are my immediate coworkers did nothing to keep things going.  I am neither surprised not disappointed.  I will chip away at this problem, but I most certainly will not kill myself trying to make make things perfect.  I will beaver along at a decent clip and draw down some OT to pad those best-three-years for my retirement.  Plan is still thirty-three months.  Plan is still good.

Dinner and cocktails last night with J.  Damn me if I can figure out that one.  I don't think that she knows either.  Best let it sit and see what happens.

Screed:

Again, I suppose that Michael is correct is his assumption that my reticence to enter the retirement phase of my life is on me.  Yup.  I ain't ready yet. 

Sometimes I wonder why this is so.  A lot of the time I think it is because that, since my plans are still inchoate, I don't want to fuck things up.  Right now, due to my lack of decisiveness and an extremely odd past history, I am sitting atop the ridge-line that separates a successful retirement with not too much in the way of troubles from a different kind of retirement of cat food and craziness.

Plus the fact, I will need to have my retirement habits better defined than the the odd collection of of ideas and maybes that currently populate that section of my sentience.  I think that I will need to finish laying down the ideas needed to finish the book and actually figure how to close it down. 

So today is back to the zoo, mouth shut, head down, and perform the homely, and soon to be obsolescent tasks that define my current workload.   Maybe I will find something in the want-ads that the VASpa so thoughtfully provides.  I know that my future lies in 15 hours a week in a pizza joint, a surfeit of tetrahydracannabinol, and word processors.

But those are all goals, not paths.