Speed Limit

My glorious fiftieth year was no secret.  What I didn't expect was to be shot out of a cannon again at fifty-five.  I feel like I have finally reached the speed limit.

After five years, working at even a great job in the capital of the planet was too taxing when combined with a two-hour commute each way, and I quit.  

I've been home three full weeks now, and it took a minute for me to start being productive, as this was the first time my job change did not have any structure.  I had fled without a purpose outside of myself.

One of my sons teaches English as a second language, and was hoping to be assigned to an Asian country.  I vowed to meet him there and take the long way home, circling the globe.  After some thought, I decided to go anyway!  So, in less than two weeks, I will fly to Europe, take a side trip to Africa, return to Europe, and continue to Hong Kong. 

How, if neither I nor the Amazing Mister K is working?  Did we receive a check from Publishers' Clearinghouse?  Do we sell crack?  Did we move an organ on eBay?

Nope . . . or, at least, not yet.  I took a distribution from my retirement plan. 

Yeah, I know.  I guess I'll just have to let the tax man touch my boobies in April.