WHile listening to the radio on the drive over to work, I hear that the Pope is 84 years old. He was born in 1920, one year before my father was born. And I wondered how my father would be now if he had lived to 83 years old.
The beauty of life is its fleeting moments. How somethings could be looming so large and in a few days, it becomes worthless almost comical. I have to remember that as I work. I can not bring the frustrations of work at home. It is only a means for me to pay the bills. There are other ways to pay the bills.
I got a hold of some people I worked with in a previous position in a large German company. I thought that they would retire in that place. I guessed wrong. They were laid off just this year. One of them was there for about seven years. The other was there for about twenty plus years. Amazing!
I have not been writing because of the work. I must apply my ass to the seat and begin writing again.