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Retreat!

I love how in French, you say on prend sa retraite--one makes one's retreat--for "retirement."

Because I'm tired. I'm tired and re-tired, and re-re-tired, and I would really like to retreat from this accidental career of mine.

I just learned (because I pay no attention to practical matters and the whole subject of finance fills me with loathing and terror, which does seriously make one wonder how I wound up in a finance-adjacent job, doesn't it?) that I could conceivably retire at age 58.

Not only that, but I could retire at the beginning of the year in which I turn 58, which, because I was born in December, means I'll be barely 57 when I'm eligible to make my retreat. That is only sixteen months away.

OMG.

How did I not register this information sooner? Well, the aforementioned loathing of finance. Unexamined certainty that such a benefit doesn't apply to people like me (because when it comes to retirement, there really is an important disadvantage to having always been unmarried). Deep unconscious belief that I've never worked hard enough in my life to deserve retirement. Dark suspicion that the day I retire, the public will rise up in revolt against public-sector pensions and void the agreement under which I've given 21 years of my life to this place.

You know, crazy stuff.

So now I'm registering this information and getting names of financial advisers and signing up for seminars and stuff, and OMG there's this image of me, still young at heart, in good health, with a fab wardrobe and an awesome bike, FREE TO NEVER GO TO WORK IN AN OFFICE AGAIN.

OMG.

Tears of joy. I'm not kidding.

Crossposted from Dreamwidth, where there are comment count unavailable comments. | Comment at Dreamwidth.

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