My retirement ain't what it's supposed to be. (1)

I'm sixty-five years old and retired from the 9-5 rat race. For the last several years that I worked, I thought a lot about retirement, actually looking forward to it, because I would then have the time to write that I've always dreamed of having.

How would my day go? Sleep until I feel like getting up (sleep has been a problem for me for the past fifteen years--just couldn't get enough of it). Drink coffee and settle down to my computer and start writing. Or, go outside and sit by the swimming pool and read and write--my favorite thing to do. Work for two or three hours, have lunch, take a nap, then write for another two or three hours. The rest of my time would be for whatever I want to do. I'd finally get published and make enough money to pay off the bills and do some traveling. My wife, who's six years younger than me, could quit her job if she wanted to, or just work a couple of days a week (she's a dental hygienest).

It would be the life I've always wanted to live. Give me fifteen or twenty years of good health and writing and I could accomplish my dreams.

But reality has a way of being quite different.