Clueless Progress

Image by John Hain from Pixabay

Since yesterday's entry I have been doing a little self-examination after all. You may recall my desire to rebel against decades moulded by the constraints of legal practice and become a Bohemian spirit in retirement.

My self-assessment suggests that I could now be on the road to achieving this, having all but given up two years into the venture. With the intention of pressing on with the proposed transformation, however, I recently identified a new art class to attend. E-mails were exchanged and all seemed fine until it came to paying the deposit by online transfer. You see we unconventional types can be rather vague if not clueless on occasions, especially when it comes to passwords or, in this instance, a 5 digit numerical code.

I could remember the numbers (well I've accessed the account often enough) but sadly not their order. Needless to say and after several erroneous attempts I was locked out of online banking.

My effort to delve into a rational self-assessment questions whether that vagueness counts as a success or a failure. Am I on the right route for conversion into a creative being or am I already on a downward spiral of mental frailty?

For anyone concerned about the period of this affliction I am able to reassure them that the instant the bank's technology pulled up the drawbridge, I could recall the sequence of the numbers perfectly.

I'm viewing my lack of precision as a success. Mister E says I should just have the number written down somewhere, but I've always refused because the pedant in me insists that passwords are meant to be remembered not scripted.  Sadly my failure to resort to wilful disobedience of the whole meaning of a password (memorise and then destroy it) brands me as a failure on my journey of transformation. On the plus side, receipt of new codes which are to be posted to my by the Bank, hidden under secret detachable windows which I then have to rub with a coin to make them magically appear, will make me feel like a latter day Cold War spy; not a particularly good one if my Bohemian side is meant to be the disguise but the concept is pleasing. Two steps forward, one step back; wasn't progress ever thus?

Of course, as my forensic self-examination has also identified, I could still be at the very start of my transition and instead be suffering from temporary post-festive befuddlement.

What has amazed me during the last couple of weeks is how easy it is to lose track of the days of the week. Now were I still working, I could almost understand that a disruption to my daily routine could cause this. However, isn't every day supposed to be Christmas Day in retirement? Indeed, after five and a half years of dedicated exploration of the parallel universe I now inhabit, why do I find it so difficult to tell a Wednesday from a Sunday just because they are at the turn of the year?

Oh dear, just when I thought I had sussed out this whole retirement business, I discover that there is so much more to assimilate and comprehend.