I hate taking decisions. Or rather, I hate being confronted with choices when I wasn't expecting them, even when, in principle, they're entirely welcome. I'd rather stick to the tried and tested, comfortable (if perhaps somewhat limited) routine.
So when I got a letter telling me the deferred retirement benefits I'd assumed weren't coming until I'm 65 are in fact due to be paid on my 60th birthday (in about six weeks), I felt a certain amount of gloom. Coincidentally, I also have to make a choice about pension contributions in my present job, and whether what savings I've got are best organised.
So I'm having to spend a chunk of a very springlike weekend with a bunch of papers and try to work out how best to arrange - or get professional advice on arranging - my finances. For the rest of my life.
That's what does it: "the rest of my life". Time to lift my head from this cosy cocoon, and look around - and ahead to the inevitable.
But I might take a break to walk in the park and perhaps use the binoculars someone gave me: or more likely just go for the cream tea.
And don't even get me started on the ironing........
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