It’s Friday the thirteenth and touch wood, nothing sinister has come to bear on me and mine. My sole complaint, really, is that my half and half lunch – half basmati rice and half garlic potatoes, with a touch of garlic mayo spooned in – from the shawarma place across the street was just too small. Which means it was that good.
I did a thing the other day. It is scary and exciting and will lead to Bigger and Better Things. How about a realistic retirement plan? Or waxing my little grey cells, as to ward off early dementia? And enhanced credibility as a role model, as a grandmother in her work-force prime?
I applied for graduate school.
I chose a Master’s program in Policy and Public Administration. Part-time studies, beginning in September. Twenty-plus years as an office assistant have brought me to this place. Heaven help me, I want to spend the next twenty years of my public sector career writing and updating policy related to human resources and the workplace. The Phoenix pay system might be enough to keep me hyper-venting to retirement and beyond, but we shall see.
Welcome to forty-six, Dear Self. Our mantra? Burn, baby, burn.