I published my first “Retirement is not without Hassles” post 12 weeks ago today.  At first, I was excited with all the comments I was getting – then I discovered that most all of them were spam.  It’s hard to know who is reading my words. Last night we watched the movie “Julie and Julia,” the story of a blogger, Julie, and her efforts to prepare all of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking recipes in a one year span of time.   It had a happy ending with Julie eventually seeing more and more activity on her site and securing a lucrative publishing contract.  I think that all of us who blog have this fantasy of fame that we are trying to achieve, but unfortunately only a few of us succeed.  With this in mind, I’m satisfied with doing this solely for myself, enjoying the satisfaction of putting words on a page.

I am convinced that I’m what they call an “extro-introvert.”  I enjoy spending time with others but I also crave my alone time.  Today is MY DAY.  It’s as good as any Friday or Saturday and definitely a benefit of retirement.  While I was working, I certainly found time alone, but it was tarnished with guilt about not working.  Today this is my work.  I haven’t had a morning alone in well over a week, and I miss it.  We were traveling to see family and then my wife got the flu, staying home from work for two days prior to the weekend.  I enjoy her company as an extrovert, but needed my time alone as an introvert.  I’m very good at doing nothing, but I need to write about my thoughts and feelings.  I haven’t been able to do that for the last two weeks.

Yes, I love my wife, enjoy watching movies with her, and want to hear about her daily accomplishments.  I look forward to our Wednesday date night, cook for her on Tuesday night, and share my running time with her and our dogs on the weekend.  However, Monday morning has become favorite time of the week.  She’s at work, doing what she wants to do, and I’m alone with the dogs and my computer.  Hopefully, some of my best writing will happen on Monday mornings, a time that I used to dread in my working days.  I even enjoy doing housework on Monday afternoon – something I won’t be doing today because after being home and sick for several days, my wife started to notice the shortcomings of my cleaning skills.  At her suggestion, I had to clean on Saturday, instead.

I did watch a lot of basketball over the past week.  “March Madness” was filled with firsts.  The Oregon Ducks made the Final Four for the first time since 1939, when they won the very first College Basketball Championship.  The South Carolina Gamecocks earned their first Final Four appearance ever!  Indiana University hired a new basketball coach, making March headlines despite a disappointing season.  Finally, the  Indianapolis Crispus Attucks high school basketball team won it’s first Indiana State title since 1959, when they were led to an undefeated season by round-ball legend Oscar Robertson.  The “Big O” himself, at age 78, was there to hand out the medals – cool.   These milestones probably don’t mean anything to anyone but me, but since it’s MY DAY I get to reflect on what’s meaningful in history to me.

When I write about the hassles of retirement, I’m sure you realize I’m in most cases being facetious.   Hassles, or what an optimist calls challenges, are simply a part of life.  It’s just that in retirement they seem to be magnified since there are no work distractions anymore.  I could lament on the two doctor appointments that I have this week, but I’m also looking forward to five MY DAYS in a row, followed by the weekend of OUR TIME with my wife.

My Day

There’s reason to change,

The days of the week.

Since I no longer work,

They need a slight tweak.

.

There’s no more Holidays,

Every day’s the same.

It’s only on my calendar,

If there’s a Big Game.

.

Weekends are now,

Just another day.

Since in retirement,

We don’t wait to play.

.

Mondays no longer,

Are filled with dread.

No clock to punch,

Just stay in bed.

.

You don’t wake up,

Thinking “Only Tuesday?”

There’s four more days,

Until it’s Saturday.

.

Hump Day’s gone,

No mid-week trauma.

The week’s half-over,

Has lost its drama.

.

Thursday’s hope,

That when it passes.

“Thank God It’s Friday!”

Proclaim the masses.

.

It disappears,

And you sleep in.

Slips quickly by,

Oh, not again.

.

Where’d Saturday go?

You moan on Sunday.

My weekend’s gone,

It’s almost Monday.

.

Only Pay Day,

Seems rewarding.

Your life is like,

A looped recording.

.

Then you retire,

And begin to reflect.

The seven-day cycle,

Now easy to reject.

.

You don’t look forward,

To it being Friday.

Every day of the week,

Is simply My Day.

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Copyright 2017 johnstonwrites.com