Tuesday 5th March

So soon it comes round again, that Monday morning feeling.  Sometimes I really don’t know how I am going to face another week of this.  And yet what else is there?  I am at that point where the idea of retirement is more than just an idea, but a reality I must confront at some point soon.  I could just flunk it and stay working for another three years, or even longer if I wanted to, and wait for events to decide for me.  But more and more I feel that I should take charge and sort things out myself.

I have all these dreams of writing and painting but more often than not I waste my Friday writing day anyway, squandering the rare moment of freedom, continually putting off the moment I should start, making excuses, rather than buckle down and just start writing.

And every so often I lose confidence in the whole process, realizing with a sickening clarity that I am not a good writer at all, and wondering why I have wasted so much time on my story anyway.

And would I have that Friday desultoriness every day if I were retired, with no work to get up for, no daily routine decided for me, would I just vegetate.  Would I waste even this, my precious retirement?  So, in an awful way this depressing Monday morning feeling is reassuring, comforting in its familiar routine, even if it means four days of fairly mindless slog again.  And all the while time is marching on, and soon I will be like my parents, worrying about the parking charges at the car park, eking out an existence punctuated by occasional days of family and friends, watching far too much telly, and understanding less and less of the world as it drifts by.

So for now writing this blog on another cold Monday morning and not really looking forward to the working week ahead, at least I know what I have ahead of me.  It is that void of unknowingness which terrifies me.