I Never Knew Eight Hours Could Last Sooo Long

For 45 years, give or take a month or two, my life meandered through blocks of time, rarely changing from day to day. First, there was “get ready for work,” followed by “commute to work,” then spend the morning “working.” Halfway through the day there was a miniscule block for “lunch,” or “errands,” or, too seldom, “exercise.” Then more “work,” then “prepare to leave,” “commute,” “eat,” “decompress” and finally “sleep.” There was certainty in these blocks of time. There were things to do, places to go, people to see, all in the name of making a living. These are the rituals we establish over a lifetime of . . . “work.”

Of course there were brief respites: family time, the odd holiday, a vacation here or there, a tiny bit of socializing. Make no mistake about it, though; the monster block of time was “work.”

Before I retired, actually I prefer to use the term stopped working, I never actually contemplated what I would do when I stopped working. Not once. I didn’t think about what might be fun, what might be difficult, what might be impossible: to do so would be to acknowledge that I was actually getting old enough that stopping work was a possibility. Maybe in the back of my mind I expected it to be like a string of days off or an extended vacation. I was sure it was going to be freedom, as vague as that concept was.

When Day One came I reveled in the fact that I didn’t have to go to work. I didn’t shave. I worked out in a small gym near my home, went to my favorite diner for an early breakfast, went grocery shopping . . . and then it was 11:00 am. Now there were supposed to be fun things to do, so I started looking for them.

I saw piles of paperwork on my dining table. I have a little ADD so those piles had been around in one form or another for as long as I could remember. I know! Maybe I could finally clean those piles up?

I studied my bookcases. I know! Maybe I could finally read all those books I bought but haven’t touched? Why did I buy them anyway? And why hadn’t I read them yet if I thought they were so damn good when I bought them?

I thought of all the boxes in the basement containing . . . well I wasn’t sure what they contained anymore. I know! Maybe I could go through them all and organize them? Apparently I had already forgotten that there were papers on the dining table that I hadn’t gone through and organized.

I walked into the kitchen. I know! Maybe I’ll start cooking again? Maybe I’ll organize the odds and ends drawer? Maybe I’ll cull through my pantry and remove the expired items? Will I have anything left in the pantry when I’ve done that?

I walked into the bathroom. I know! Maybe I’ll start real house cleaning again? If I decide to do that I’ll start in the bathroom?

I walked into the living room. I saw a huge pile of old magazines containing articles I meant to read. I know! Maybe I’ll finally get a chance to read them, or at least cut out the articles I want to read and recycle the rest of the magazines, along with a couple months of the Sunday New York Times?

I walked into my bedroom. I opened a couple drawers. I looked at my closet with all my suits, most of which I would never wear again. I know! I’ll go through all these spaces and pull the clothes I haven’t worn or won’t wear again and donate them somewhere?

It’s now 11:20 am. I walked into my den and turned on the TV. Jesus! I never knew eight hours could last so long. I know! I’ll start doing fun things tomorrow?

If I can ever figure out what they are.