. . . and that's because I don't have a job, at least not an official one. In other words, I'm unemployed, but I won't make it to any list that designates as such. I retired early from college teaching, barely made it out the door just a few months before turning sixty years of age. By the time I was 62, my social security and teacher retirement amounted to more than I was making while still employed full time. Ain't that a kick in the ass, huh? It could be better, I suppose, considering I'm almost as busy now as back when I had to deal with an employer. That's my fault because I don't like inactivity, can't stand just sitting around. I work at something all the time, and that's my new job - working at projects that must be done in order for me to have a decent life. Or what's left of a life. Just because my time is short doesn't mean I can get by without a job of some kind.
I work as a writer part of the time, perhaps as much as half the time. That's the one thing I do that shows some promise of making money. I build guitars, but that's done out of love for the work, and I build other things. Building, that's my job now that I'm an old guy. I can do carpentry work, so I like building little houses and doing renovations and things like that. And I've been making cabinets and furniture since my twenties, so I'm fairly good at that. If it involves wood, I usually enjoy working. If it involves concrete, I'm a mess. I'm likewise lousy at other things, but that doesn't mean I won't try to do them. So my job now doesn't have a designation, unless you'd like to call me a professional piddler and handyman. And I love my job.
No comments:
Post a Comment