Tuesday, September 06, 2011


Yeah, I'm a little old for that but it happened yesterday afternoon as Morgan meandered around Lancaster County - and maybe other counties as well...I lost track.

I discovered I'm a Type A personality...well, maybe Type A Light.
I need to know what I'm doing, where I'm going, what I'll do when I get there, who I will be with and when I'll get home...all the time.
I don't think I was always like that--controlling.
I really didn't think I am like that. But I must be because as Morgan took what I kept saying were wrong turns away from home (supposedly on our way back from Gettysburg...could he have done it on purpose?), I found myself getting more and more anxious. When we passed an intersection on Rt 322, one I've crossed many times on the way from one of our facilities to another, and when we passed it going in the wrong (for going home) direction, I almost got short of breath.
Yes, I was tired.
Yes, I had things to do at home.
But I did have the next day off.
We could have meandered around Pennsylvania and Maryland (and New Jersey if Morgan had been so inclined) without me losing a minute of work.
Sanity, it seems, was another thing.
I tried to explain it to the calm, unruffled Morgan. Um... the calm, unruffled, retired Morgan.
"I'm a nurse," I said, as if that was more than enough explanation. "I was a single mom," I added, thinking that was enough.
"I had to be in charge all the time. At work and at home. That's why I'm like this."
Morgan just looked at me with his enigmatic Morgan-smile.
"Well, soon, you won't have to worry about that. You'll be able to do anything you, we, want at any time," he said. "You'll be retired and we'll be married."
And then it hit me.
Retirement meant more than just not going to work everyday. Retirement was not going to work everyday... and everything that means.
No schedule defined by someone else.
No time frames set by someone else.
No control by someone else.
I would answer to no one but myself...and Morgan.
I would really be in control...of everything and for the first time.
That was scary.
But not as scary as when I saw the Oregon Diary on the wrong side of Rt. 272 for the second time and realized that if we kept going we would end in Maryland and not Reading, PA.
I've got a lot of work to do on me.


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