Todays' counsel: The Prelude to a new life

This really began in late February, 2009. From this point forward, my feet were firmly planted on the path to retirement and Southern Living.
I was always targeting 2014 as my retirement year. Then again, I thought I'd be independently wealthy by age 50. That goal was about as accurate as one of my golf shots.
At the new year I began to sense all wasn't right in working-land. I had worked for 34 years at the same place but now I was working for a new boss. My previous Director had always exhibited a confidence in me to do the right thing, make the right decisions and see things through to the end. When I was introduced to new employees it was always, "This is Fred Goddard, if you want something done, he's the guys you talk to." Things were different now. Next to "micro manager" in the dictionary was this new guys picture. I'm going to be diplomatic and just say we didn't see eye-to-eye. Then again, if I wasn't going to be diplomatic, I'd use terms as "my way or the highway", insecure, control freak, anti-high seniority people, and vindictive. But heaven only knows I am the soul of diplomacy!
By early March I had turned into Peter Finch in "Network": "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!!! My Boss came into my office one day, threw a paper clip on the desk in front of me and almost yelled, "Don't order these paper clips anymore..... I don't like them and don't order the kind that has the little ridges either!" I thought he was kidding! He wasn't. I'm left thinking, you're the Director of a department at a college that is responsible for a 5 million dollar budget, plus capital projects, and you're pissed about a 29 cent box of paperclips?
One morning, I was sitting at my desk and he walked in and started talking at me. Please note the word "at" instead of "to". Anyway, about 5 seconds into the conversation (one way, of course) all I was hearing was Charlie Brown"s teacher (wah-wah-wah-wah.....wah-wah). He left, I made one phone call, got up from my desk, walked down to Human Resources and put in my retirement papers, affective June 1, 2009.
I got home that evening and told my fiancee', Kat, what I did. If my Kat is anything, she is patient, especially with me. Sometimes, I'm not really sure why. Maybe it's because she understands me better than I understand myself. Maybe it's because that all she wants is what's best for us in the long run. then again, maybe it's because she was hit in the head by her sister, with a baseball bat, when they were kids!
She smiled. Gave me a hug and one of her great kisses and said, "Now what?"
I immediately felt like Dr. Frankenstein after his creation broke free, " Ok Doc, you made it, now whatcha gonna do?"
I came to me in about 3 seconds: Get the HELL outta Northern New Jersey! Leave behind the land of a population density equal to Hong Kong, the land of the 24 hour rat race, where everything has to be done yesterday, bumper-to-bumper traffic, obscenely high taxes and corruption so rampant, you have to pay someone off in order to stay honest.
The decision was made.......... move! MOVE! Go directly to move! Just pass go, collect your pension. I actually heard the voice from the Amityville Horror: "GET OUT!"
Now all I needed was a destination.
That's today's' lesson gang. If you're in your fifties and working has gotten to the point where it is a struggle just to leave the house, it affects your sleep, your every thought, you're health, maybe even your sanity then GET OUT! I was lucky, I had opted for a traditional pension plan through the state (yea.......I worked for a State College), but it really doesn't matter. don't wine to me about how your 401K has taken a bath lately. It doesn't matter. GET OUT while you can enjoy your life and retirement, before your boss, who's only out to make a name for himself, drives you to the clock tower with semi-automatic weapons, before they find you sitting in a corner, holding crayons in your toes and drooling on your self and a lobster bib becomes a necessary part of your daily wardrobe.
After all, you can always get a job at Home Depot driving the funky forklift: BEEP_BEEP! Watch it lady, I gotta pallet of toilet plungers comin through!