Not retired, really? The absence of deadlines and cubicles in my life, and the preponderance of cats, dogs and plumbing leaks, makes me suspicious.
A tray of toilet articles has just exploded from my closet. What sent bottles and Q-tips flying across my home office? A schizophrenic calico cat made a desperate leap for freedom from her pursuer, an autistic Border Collie. I share my so-called working life these days with four rescue animals.
A home office, I assure my wife, differs from a home zoo. Furthermore, the job of home zoo keeper is greatly complicated by being in a wheelchair. Retrieving bottles of shampoo, deodorant, insect repellent and so on, with a long-handled reacher occupied a good 20 minutes of this writer's morning. Good thing I don't have any deadlines. Or any bosses.
But I do have dreams, ambitions and vague goals. And for the first time in my life, I have a remarkable degree of freedom. And freedom, any philosopher it will tell you, is a burdensome thing. There are lots of things I can do, few I have to do. And if retirement feels like a preposterous luxury, well, it is. Spend it wisely, I say. But what is wise? What is anything?
That's the problem with having lots of options. There are also lots of questions. What there isn't a lot of, is time. Make the most of it, I say. But what is the 'it' I am making the most of? At times like this, it's good to have a job, even a small one that doesn't pay. Like filling the dogs' bowl. Which involves turning on the wildly spraying kitchen faucet...and reminds me to call the plumber.