If your mores were half as habile as your ego sum, life would be brighter.

I gotta tell ya, this whole retirement thing is looking strange and scary. See, I won't have to drive down the road, use a pass-key, climb up to my wee office, log in using WIndows, and write technical documents for eight hours a day. I won't be surrounded by nice folks who cheerfully agree I exist. The whole framework of ordinary routine is going by the boards. I will be free to see, think, and act as I please, but the scary part is, what if I don't please?

I mean I could find a hundred and one things to do. I could study programming, or math, or robotics, or physics. I could record songs or write new ones. I could write deathless tomes on the paucity of human understanding. I could develop the great American metaphysics (about time!) or fix up an old boat and sail the Pacific coast. I could learn cabinet-making skills, or sculpture. I could form a research foundation or go to Africa to build water distillation plants. Brush up on my French. A hundred things are possible!

But what if I don't want to? WIthout the network of expectation, I will have to be entirely self-motivated, depending on no-one else's demands or definitions. Self-defining. Now that's scary.

But I am determined to tough it out, to face the storm and pass through the eye thereof, to seek the clear waters on the other side.

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