Every day I run like a ratbag through a circus ring. Jumping hoops and making legends. Aching back and weary legs too sore to walk on. Piles of paper work assault my cringing eyes.

Retirement, what kind of word is that? It always sends queer visions straight to my tortured mind of cushy pillows puffed up and reeking of rose petal water. Lounging endless untroubled days, with nothing to interrupt my vacant mind from its dazed euphoria. Limp undecided muscles with no need of exercise. Caressing melodic music siphoning gently into my ears. Swaying curtains waltzing in a cool sensual dance in time with the heart throbbing rhythm of a fan over head.

Huh! Who am I kidding? Retirement! I will never retire! They’ll have to drag me, scratching and biting, head spinning, feet flying, screaming all the way. My retirement will be living and breathing and running and stretching my mind to the extents of the earth. I will start a new fad or two and stir the pot as much as my cranky old hands can turn the spoon before I drop off the perch!

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