I no longer work. I have indeed retired. Yesterday, for the last time, I went upstairs at 8:30 to do battle with the work computer system. For the last time I grappled with illegible handwriting. For the last time I went through all the time-consuming procedures that could take longer than the actual piece of work. For the last time I took my dogs
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Part time makes a big difference, but I'm realising now that it didn't make a big enough difference.
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Enjoy the freedom of your days. Retiring in August is a good idea - so many folks I know do it at the first of the year and there you are, housebound in the dead of winter. (if one is in the northern hemisphere, that is).
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And that won't really hit me hard until Wednesday: I only worked Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, though they were very long days.
I thought being tired from three long days in succession was why I lacked energy, but I worked a full week last week, had a major celebration with various friends Friday evening, went out to Manchester Pride on Saturday and then Saddleworth Rushchart on Sunday and still had the energy on Sunday evening to do dinner for my next door neighbour/oldest friend and myself. Today I've done more about the house than on any two days previously and caught up with tin whistle practice, and it's not yet four o'clock. I've also planned out the next chapter for the historical novel, taken the dogs for a longer than usual walk, and done the week's shopping. This bodes well.
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