My P.O.V. on Retirement

If I live long enough to be eligible for residency in a retirement facility, I hope I don't. I don't want to spend my remaining years shuffling down a dimly lit, urine smelling, sad little hallway to my closet sized bedroom with its obligatory 17 inch TV, vase filled with faux daisies, and uncomfortable visitor's chair. The last thing I want to talk about is my ailments to another senior who is obsessed with bowel movements. I want to live out in the fresh air filled with progressive thinkers who know how to have fun. I want to shop till I drop and go to see kick-butt, scifi movies with a socially redeeming message. I want to drink a White Russian every year on my birthday. I want to try to stay awake every new years eve and drink a toast to the new year. I want to visit Australia and see Ayres Rock, go snorkeling at the Great Barrier Reef, see the Rabbit Proof Fence (or where it used to be), pet a Roo, play a didgeridoo, see a Koala, tour Perth, Sydney, Adelaide, Melbourne, Brisbane, Canberra, see the remains of the last known Tasmanian Tiger (Thylacine), and taste a vegemite sandwich, maybe. Then when I'm too old to do or go, I want to quietly slip into the last dimension having exhausted my wish list.