A school report, by Irrelephant. Retirement for me, unfortunately, is a few decades away.
I know folks who have it all planned out, every inch of it, every single dollar, and have every ability to make it, comfortably and easily. I envy them. I don't have a job right now where retirement is an option, simply because my previous track record indicates that I get tired of the bulls**t after a few years and move on, and I'm not exactly deep enough into the money to have a bajillion dollars squirreled away in my 401K. I'm not the type of person to stay in a job for decade after decade, I fear. I think the longest I've ever managed in one place was 6 years, and that was with a several month long absence after four or so. After that it's a good solid 4 years. Not exactly retirement-bound. I can eat quite a lot of s**t sandwiches, but after a point I simply have to push back from the table and tell them to bite me under my tail.
But irregardless of all that, one day I'll be too crippled or decrepit or simply too old to work, even as a Wal-Mart greeter, or I'll be replaced by a twenty-year old computer, and that'll be that, I'll be let out to pasture. With luck my daughter will have become a doctor, or married one, or give birth to a world-reknown concert pianist who loves his or her grandpa Irrelephant, and they will be able to put me up in some sort of assisted-living arrangement, or maybe they'll just stake me out in the back yard and feed me from a big stainless steel bowl. We'll just have to see.
I'm hoping that with my retirement years I can catch up on my reading. I simply can't seem to find enough time to read all that I want, no matter how many long lunches I take or how often I skip things like eating, and personal hygiene. My retirement plan has always included me sitting on the front porch in my slippers and house robe, shouting at the neighbor's annoying kids to stay off my lawn, but somewhere in there I want to get in some quality book reading time. That is, of course, assuming they still have things like porches and rocking chairs in The Future. And things like lawns. And books. My luck I'll turn 65, withdraw the $3.50 that's the total sum of my Social Security allowance after they've paid the last note on The Burning Bush's retirement villa, and they'll trot my old bones off to the Soylent Factory, where I'll be fine ground, mixed with some algae, some soybeans and a dash of Tony's and pressed into little green crackers for consumption by the masses.
"Sheesh. You sure don't get Soylent Green like you used to in the good old days. They were bigger, for one, and tasted better. And you could get a whole box of girls for $15. This new stuff isn't a whit on the Good Old Days."