77 Months and 2 days to go
Pixel 9 Pro - 1/25 sec - f/1.7 - 6.9mm - ISO 27
Some time back I was having a particularly tough time at work, which is a relative measure. Because I can report a bunch of days much, much harder on the mental wellness scale in the past, and of course there is always someone else worse off than me. But on that day I idly asked the AI machines of the time, "How many months left until 17th November 2032?", and the machine came back with the lovely round 100 months almost exactly.
With a very small amount of coding I added that particular stat to the dashboard that lives in our kitchen. A rapsberry pi with a monitor screwed to the wall that has some important life stats, because what can be measured can be improved (with all due love to Goodhart's Law). Ever since then I've been acutely aware of how many productive months I have left to pay off the home loan, save for retirement, and make sure I have enough really good wine left in the cellar to last a useful number of years until I become whatever the hell it is that you become when you get old.
This measure has become so acute that I have even started to (mentally) draft the post I'll make on LinkedIn, with no fear of bridges to burn because I will not need those bridges. In fact, I'm positively salivating at conflagrating those bridges, with nipples as hard as Scania truck wheel nuts.
77 Months and 2 days to go
The Photo
Fridays are my favourite. OMG I love Fridays. I wake up with Friday joy. The commute is easy with people taking Fridays off work. I've already worked my 40+ hours for the week before I even start the day, so knocking off at 4 feels so good. I've planned my Friday cocktail (tonight is old fashioneds) and I can play my music loud and have a bit of a boogie in my man cave to some of the best that the '80s and thereabouts can offer someone my age. So here is me adding some lime to my margarita.
