A colleague who retired last December is in the office today, brought back to answer some questions and to have lunch. He's the one who was in the office every day by five-thirty at the latest, who consistently thought ahead on issues, who could be relied on to help with anything from researching odd accounting matters to arranging files in the basement.
He finished well.
Me? I'd just like to finish. My first actual paycheck-earning job began when I was fifteen; for the most part, I've been working ever since. That would be more than thirty-five years. True, the jobs during the school years weren't forty hour work weeks, but they were jobs nonetheless.
I'm tired. I want out.
The economic realities of our times (and my bank account) mean I probably have another twenty years of employment ahead of me. It's not so much that I don't want to work, per se, but that I want an extended break, a chance to do something different for a while. Or at least not get up at o-dark-thirty every morning.
If you have any ideas for ways to get out of the working-woman funk, drop me a line in the comments. Crazy or not, I may give some of them a try.
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