Dear Newly Retired Me
How are you one month in? Is this how you imagined it would be? PJs at ten, the brilliant rays falling on crisp white bedding and warming your feet, your toes wriggling with pleasure? And the silence, interrupted only by the occasional sound of waves crashing in the distance, a soft hum almost lulling you back to sleep. And then, the others moving softly on tiptoes against the wooden floor so as not to stir you. You delve deeper under the covers, your negligee slipping off unbothered shoulders, the red and pink hearts gathering on rounded breasts heavy with newly found menopausal weight. The linen clings to salty skin, for the hot flashes had been particularly fierce in the Cape Town heat. How does it feel to not to have to grab and gulp down lukewarm coffee, or carry bags laden with gadgets and books and the multitude of stationery that are the staples of every teacher? Does it feel like freedom yet? Does this feel like the peace you craved? Or are you perturbed by how foreign i...