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As those of you who take note of entry titles have already guessed, Mum's turned 64. I stayed up all night to be sure of catching her before she went off to work, to wish her felicitations of the day and give her her present: a "Hello Tarot" set, which she was much amused by. Then at 6:26 the phone rang and the caller-ID said it was my aunt, which scared the bejeezus out of both of us because this is Mum's older sibling and we're always expecting that a phone call at an unholy hour is going to be the news that somebody died. But it was just more felicitations of the day, so that was all right, then.
According to Mum's paperwork, the years when she had a Real Job at a Real Wage will mean that if she can hang on until the full Social Security benefits date, she will actually be making more of an income than she presently makes working 13- and 14- hour days, which is sad, really. (She used to be in advertising postproduction, until digital imaging came in and the geewhizziness of it all lowered the standard of acceptable output to a point where the clients were satisfied with the level of quality that a Photoshop-trained monkey could produce. A 20-year-old Photoshop-trained monkey, to be precise.)
According to Mum's paperwork, the years when she had a Real Job at a Real Wage will mean that if she can hang on until the full Social Security benefits date, she will actually be making more of an income than she presently makes working 13- and 14- hour days, which is sad, really. (She used to be in advertising postproduction, until digital imaging came in and the geewhizziness of it all lowered the standard of acceptable output to a point where the clients were satisfied with the level of quality that a Photoshop-trained monkey could produce. A 20-year-old Photoshop-trained monkey, to be precise.)