This is how retirees must feel.

Hours stretch into days, days into weeks, weeks into months,with not much really going on. Conversations with a partner are condensed to pivotal questions like “do you want to go to the grocery store?”, “do you need to do laundry?”, and my personal favorite, “did the mail come yet?”

Frivolous plans are made, which can take up some time, and days become filled with some central activity or another.  Knocking a ball around and calling it tennis.  A walk to the thrift store to see what’s new.  The gym.  A movie. 

Nights unfold without much to-do.  A frozen meal is heated.  A three-dollar bottle of wine is uncorked.  My toosh is positioned just so on the couch to settle in for a four hour marathon of “John and Kate Plus Eight”.  Then I get drowsy.  I brush my teeth.  And eventually I go to bed.  To get up and do it all over again.

This is the life of an unemployed and recently relocated actress.

And I know what you're thinking: “Welcome it!  Enjoy it!  Drink it in like the summer sunshine!  This is real livin’, honey!” 

And while I can I attest to enjoying not having to set an alarm (sheer bliss), shopping the neighborhood Farmers Market and having the first pick, attending mid-day yoga, and being free (completely free) for such activities like book signings, impromptu pool parties, and wine tastings at my leisure, I do believe that a 30-something like me should have a little more on her plate.  And I’m not talking about cheese and crackers.

And I’m not being lazy, mind you.  Resumes fly out of my apartment.  Frantic emails are typed daily.  Calls are made, solicited or not.  I’ve taken classes. I’ve gone to resume seminars. I've changed my home page to Craigslist.  There is just so much one can do while waiting for the phone to ring.

So I do what any good-natured and upstanding woman my age would do.  I fantasy shop.  Online, that is.

I dream of perfect genuine leather white hobo purses and drop them in my Favorites Box.  I fantasize about purple suede boots with free shipping both ways.  I navigate my way through sales and specials and new Fall Line ups and line them up into my shopping cart. 

As I click and drag item after item, I imagine myself walking tall in my new suede purple boots.  My white genuine leather hobo bag dangling from my shoulder.  Having full confidence that with every step my new ylang-ylang daily shower spray purchased from drugstore.com is magically dissipating the soap scum from my tub.  It feels wonderful and I could do it all afternoon.  I mean, seriously, how does anyone hold down a job when a virtual model with your exact specifications can try on a bathing suit for you? 

I doubt that my father is dabbling in any of this online shopping.  My father, who although retired a few years ago, stubbornly refuses to stop going strong.  He juggles three jobs, two active hobbies, volunteer ushers at all the local theatres, and is President of his Condo Association.  He is the opposite image of my easy-breezy life and I can only imagine what he thinks of me.

He would be disappointed in my empty calendar and empty pocketbook.  He would be shocked to know that I wake sometime in the double digits and take a shower “whenever”.  He would probably tell me that I am not really supposed to mean it when people ask what I am doing and I answer, “I dunno, just chillin’”.

He would make me feel guilty that my lifestyle consists of taking siestas.  All. Day. Long.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe I should be ignoring the lure of the Internet and JCrew’s 20% off final sale items and take a poetry class instead.  Maybe I should stop pretending to play tennis and learn how to change a tire.  Maybe I should get up with the sun and finish the crossword and put together a bookcase and organize old photos and run twenty errands and make a peach pie from scratch and never once have time to plop on a couch.  Or daydream.  Or pretend. 

But then I see my neighbor, Sol, sitting under the umbrella of his patio furniture.  Sol is in his mid-seventies and way into his retirement.  His days consist of eating cereal, reading about the weather, talking about the weather, worrying about the weather, and catching fruit flies in a red wine solution. Maybe he takes a trip to Trader Joes, maybe not.  His spirits are up but his body is slow.  He doesn’t have the energy to pick up a racket or walk to the Farmers Market.  He is unable to do downward dog and I bet he has never been to Zappos.  And yet his days are full.  And pleasant.  And he didn’t have to clean out any gutters or run a 5K for charity.

“Any luck on getting a job?” Sol asks me.

“Nothing yet, Sol”, I say.

“Eh, don’t worry. If it was meant to be, it will come. Soon enough.”

I nod and shrug. That’s what all old men are supposed to say.  They’ve lived and loved and conquered or failed.  But they all have buckets of these one-liners, for people like me, who have nothing to do but listen.

I walk back into my apartment.  I sit on my garage-sale furniture and I stare blankly at my calendar.  I feel the weight of the guilt of being my father’s daughter and not having one thing to write down.  I feel sub-par.  I feel embarrassed.  I feel shame in my emptiness.

And then I look out my window.  And I see Sol looking at the sky.  Then looking at his paper.  Then taking a sip of juice.  Then looking at the sky again.  

Maybe Sol has got it all figured out.  And maybe he is right about me.  Maybe what I am seeking is meant to be and is right around the corner. Maybe this is my catch-up time, my prep-time, my relax-before-the-storm-time.  And I should be enjoying it, while it lasts.

Maybe I’m really supposed to be taking my retirement now.  Maybe I’ll deserve it.  One day.

I’ll still make all my calls.  And print all my resumes.  And return all my emails. 

And I’ll surf the shopping sites and live in a fantasy world for a good twenty minutes.

And then I will step away from the computer.  And let go of my guilt.  And I will relish in my premature retirement. 

I will sip my coffee slowly.  I will play tennis badly.  I will buy fresh local strawberries and eat them on the way home without washing them.  I will walk to the bookstore and read all the cards in the naughty section.  I will laugh out loud.  I will stop to smell the lavender in the air.  I will look at the sky.  I will learn how to trap fruit flies with a red wine solution. I will drink the rest.

And then I’ll position myself on the couch just so.  I’ll watch my reality shows.  I’ll brush my teeth.  And I will call it a day.

Because it is.