So currently–like a solid most of the US populace–I work a day job that pays just enough to make me go to it and not enough to really save and there’s no retirement plan in sight. But! Check your privilege, Olly: my husband does not.
The dream? A small lakeside cottage or cabin or gothic revival victorian in Maine, with a little shed out back that is mine that i can write in.
I can imagine very clearly not doing the day job anymore. Maybe I go to a lot of school and the day job moves on up into something that can be retirement-supporting. Maybe i have my own little cabin i escape to and we keep our house and I write, is the point, I still write. “Mom,” the kids sing-song-say on the phone, “are you doing alright?”
The kids are doing alright. Sookie is doing some kind of lab work. The other two exist, and that’s as far as I’ve figured. Tho sometimes they don’t.
Does that mean I should have more kids? Should have more so I personally, selfishly, do not regret denying them? Or that I shouldn’t, selflessly, because only truly wanted children should exist?
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