The Horse Latitudes of Angst

It's Friday night. Not even five yet.  I am sporting a new, high tech knee brace that keeps my remaining good knee from becoming my second bad knee.

Eye staring

I am also sporting a new soul malaise.  One stemming from the fact that I am approaching medicare age at warp speed and have no clue whatsoever about what to do with the rest of my life.  This damn thing is staring at me while I tap out the seed of this article on a cell phone while being baked on the couch.

The source of the discomfort is a complete blank when I try to figure out which way to jump.  I have been only so-so at guessing the slope of the decline, but I think that I am correct in seeing it as a decline.  Will the slope steepen or flatten out or just meander down like it has been?  This is a dammed interesting question because it will define the level of effort I will have to put into the project of living out my slothful, poorly planned, and somewhat tenuous retirement.

Part of me wants to pull up stakes, tell everyone to take a hike, and head out to the boonies in parts unknown.  But then the fact that I do love my odd little family and the desire to stay connected kinda puts the kibosh on any such bit of fancy.

So off I wander around the too-clean and sensitive environs of lower Hawthorne and order a flight of local beers.  I'm sitting in a bar sucking down some pretty-fine IPA and listening to the Dead.  Right now they are playing the whole of "Workingman's Dead".  I am remarkably content.

So how do I approach the coming change.  I am not just talking about the change in my life when I go from useful (a marginal call at best) to useless (retirement is self-absorption, nothing less)?  Maybe I am seeing the way now.  It ain't fancy.  But truth be told, it ain't half bad.

I just convinced the bartender to prepare me a half/half plate of mini-corn dogs and tater tots.

Does it get better than this.