Not feeling worse today. Feeling better. But I don’t want to infect anyone. And I don’t want to eat the food here. Plus it rained all day. All good reasons to stay in the Old Bat Cave. I read, went to Zoom yoga, watched YouTube, and took a nap.
The Twilight Zone
Having all this reading time available, I read an article in the Journal about adjusting to retirement. Now, I haven’t had a serious corporate job in almost 40 years. Consulting, Park Service, some hourly side jobs, etc. They filled up time and the piggy bank. But Carlton and I stopped “working” when he was 50 and I was 41.
This article says that after you retire you have to “Learn how to be at home”. I don’t believe I learned this lesson. To me “home” is where I keep my clothes. You would think that I would have learned how to be at home during Covid. But, it didn’t. I fought it every single day.
Guess what. I checked my watch. And it says my resting heart rate started climbing from the mid-50s to the high-60s on January 1st. So, that must be when the sinus issue went from irritation to infection. Will see if my heart rate goes down when I start feeling better.
BUT WAIT. THERE IS MORE.
Today I got an email that was obvious a product of ChatGPT. So I submitted my Twilight Zone rambles to Bard. This is what Bard came up with:
Dusting off an old Journal from a pile of “maybe laters,” I stumbled upon an article about adjusting to retirement. Funny concept, since “serious corporate job” hasn’t crossed my radar in nearly four decades. My dance card’s been full of consulting jigs, Park Service stomps, and the occasional hourly hustle – always something to keep the clock ticking. Carlton and I even ditched the whole “work” charade years ago, him at 50, me hot on his heels at 41.
But this article hits a funny bone when it says you gotta “Learn how to be at home.” Me? Learn? Home’s just where I park my boots and hang my hats – a pit stop between adventures, not a destination in itself. Sure, Covid tried to teach me that lesson, but let’s just say I spent those months locked in a tango with cabin fever, battling boredom one rogue sock pile at a time.
It’s “better”. But it ain’t me.