One of the great things about retirement is not hating Sunday nights. Because, really, on some level, there was always an element of that, even at the best points of my career. I don't think it's unusual, or even necessarily bad -- assuming the idea of Monday morning doesn't fill you with existential dread. Been there, too. I think a lot of people go through it do varying degrees, even if they just looooooooove every little moment of their jobs and burst through the door each Monday gushing with enthusiasm. We all know such creatures. They walk among us.
Then I stumbled on this little gem:
Really? How very evolved of you, O traveler of this magic world. How positively advanced ADHD must one be to float above such mundanities as rent and food.
While it's true I don't go through the Sunday night blues, per se, I'd be lying if I said I don't still sometimes expect the Retirement Police to kick my door in, drag me back to my desk, and tell me I have to stay there another 84 years.
And in this environment, who knows? It could still happen.
No comments:
Post a Comment