I'm wondering if I'll ever have another vacation, or if I'll ever retire. This isn't a litany of complaints -- I'm grateful to have a job that I love, and grateful for having had seven years worth of assorted cavorts around the globe. Just wish it had been spread out over a longer time period.
As things stand now, I'm looking at the necessity of continued employment until I drop dead. And at this rate, it's probably going to happen when I'm on the job, or a job. Whatever it takes to pay the bills.
I didn't expect to be looking back at 55 years from a standpoint of being twice-married, twice-unmarried. Death & divorce are both knee-bucklers. A better person would have planned more carefully -- at least that's what I hear from people who are close to me and should know better than to reprimand. What they don't know is that so many of those years have been spent scrabbling together enough to get by. Everyone has a back story, and I possibly don't fit the stereotype of The Working Poor, but I'll stand up here face-forward and say that I'm one of them. But then, that's the problem with stereotypes -- they don't take into account the myriad number of variables that make up any group of people.
For a short while, I thought I was home-free, had hit a home run, was out of the woods.
Life has a way of jerking the rug out.
It's all precarious --
And not one of us is going to make it out alive.
That being said, my fortune is in the minute-by-minute details that make a day, a week, a life.
Today it was to find energy in the bluster of the March wind, humor in my work companions, comfort in dinner shared with my son, and an ephemeral nirvana in a quarter-cup of homemade chocolate-peanut-butter ice cream. (And yes, it was only a quarter-cup.)