Before I retired on April 1st , TGIF had a profound meaning. It meant that the workweek was almost over and that I was entitled to a weekend of freedom from the corporate grind; two days to recharge my battery and unwind. For me, TGIF now means squat. 

When you retire, it is very difficult to distinguish one day from the next. They all seem to blend together. It’s like being stranded on a desert island where the day of the week has no significance. If a particular day is associated with an activity like attending Sunday services, or if Wednesday evening is pasta night, you can associate these events directly with the day and not lose your sense of time. 

It’s wonderful having the choice to get up in the morning when you want to or going to bed whenever you feel like it. I love the luxury of taking an afternoon nap, or going for a walk or bike ride whenever my little heart desires. However, in spite of this feeling of total emancipation, I must admit that I miss the rush of excitement I felt every Friday afternoon as I walked out of the office and headed for my car, knowing that the next two days belonged to me. I miss that feeling. But not so much that I’ll be searching for a job anytime soon.


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