Lazy. That’s what I’ve become. And, I hate that word. Always have. I don’t know if I always will. After all, it’s hard to hate what you are.
Lazy. A word all the people I worked with warned me about.
“Don’t be lazy.”
“A lazy person is the worst kind.”
“I hate a lazy person.”
“He’s just lazy and no good.”
I looked in the mirror and realized it’s a fact. I’ve turned out lazy. Yep! As lazy as they come. And, that’s not good. Not good at all.
Yes, my name is Mike and I am lazy.
It started a few years ago. In fact, I remember the exact day. The day I decided to retire. July, my birthday month. I was sixty-six. Old enough.
I drew my last regular paycheck. Signed up for Social Security. That was a bitter surprise.
Not enough to live on.
I sat down with the financial guy and we drew up a plan. We reviewed the 401’s, the IRAs, the little savings account I always kept hidden away.
“How much do you have in your piggy bank?” he asked.
“That’s getting personal.” I said.
“You’re gonna need more money than what I see.” he said.
“Too late for that. I’m retired.” I bragged.
He hammered on his calculator, looked over the numbers on his computer screen. Wrinkled his brow, asked me what I needed, compared apples to oranges and that sort of stuff.
He said, “Looks like you’re gonna have to die around your 71st. Birthday.”
“What?” I was still under the impression I could live forever.
“You’re gonna run out of money. Gone. Zero. Zip. Zilch None. No more!” He paused for that dramatic effect. “Dead broke! Well, you will have your social security. But it ain’t much.”
Think about that. I work hard, retire and live to a ripe old age. I still end up with “It ain’t much.”
I said “That’s not a good thought at all.”
“You’ll have to scale back. Live on a budget. Reduce your spending.” he warned.
‘Sounds like a fixed income to me.” I said.
“You’re learning.” he said.
Two hours later, we got a plan. I have to learn to live on less, but I can live to be 91. Then it’s all over, except for that social security check.
Back to square one.
I went home to cry in my beer. Cheap, no name beer. Then, I realized I’ll be OK. Most of my family died in their 80’s.
I stopped working. I retired. I got lazy. I stopped doing things I needed to do. I stopped shaving every day. I stopped wearing socks, unless it was a formal occasion. I let the grass grow a little taller than I used to. I don’t change the light bulb until I’m ready to.
I stopped letting bosses order me around. Well, not completely. I am married. We can talk about that later.
I am a success. Retired for six years now. My weight says I’ve never missed a meal. I am officially lazy.
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