Would you still need me? Would you still feed me?

I’m 44 now. Yes, I know, congratulations for another year of not accidentally inhaling something bigger around than my trachea, well done.

I’m also halfway in my working career toward retirement age. This freaks me out a bit, since I haven’t been very careful with my finances so far and I’d much prefer not to have to build Web sites for the rest of my natural life. Which would be significantly shorter than it would be if I didn’t.

So we’re seeing a financial advisor, which is sort of like seeing a marriage counselor in that after we talk to him we say “Good meeting! Glad we’re doing this!” while still feeling vaguely uneasy about the future. I think we’re about to turn our nest eggs over to this guy. I’m sure it’s a good idea but it just seems like we’re failing somehow. “We give up, we can’t secure our financial freedom. Hey, here’s a guy in a suit, let’s let him do it.”

I suppose we’ll be glad we did it 20 years from now, provided President Palin leaves any of the planet habitable. And even then, air purifiers and shotgun ammo ain’t gonna buy themselves.

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