Looking at my savings this past week tells me that I'm halfway through my early retirement. I'm pretty sure I'll be forced back into the workforce with my back as bad as it is currently given how intentionally demolished the healthcare system has become.
I'm not looking forward to it for the obvious reasons: Employers always demand more labour than they're willing to pay a livable wage for, and the government has their backs. That's pretty shit but they are going to run out of people from the global south to exploit at some point and they'll have to cut back on buying yachts and pay properly, so something for future generations to look forward to.
But really, it's the dressing for public consumption that I'm not happy about.
I'm one bathrobe away from being a 24/7 The Dude cosplayer and I'm quite happy about that.
Don't lie, you'd do it too if you could.
Why this lack of concern about my appearance? I'm often disappointed in the rest of you, but I'm not depressed. I'm just old. The back end of my time on Earth. Maybe twenty five years left if I'm lucky.
Like everyone I spent a good part of my life being concerned about appearance and meeting the expectations of other people. I'm tired of trying to please the unpleasable. I'm not wearing a button up shirt and chinos? How about you suck my dick now that it isn't being squeezed black and blue by those chinos?
Alas, I'm limited in my freedom to tell society the best way to shove things up its ass. I have no power. One day relatively soon I'll be forced into the "Nice Clothes Store" looking for something that proves I'm willing to sacrifice happiness for the sake of Capitalism.
I'm also looking forward to being asked why my resume is two decades of peddling English in east Asia.
"You assholes wouldn't pay me a livable wage for my labour so I went somewhere they would."
I probably won't get that job but it'll be satisfying to get that decades old bit of resentment off of my chest.