"Bacon. A whole damn plate of it." That was Pop's world in Grumpy or Grumpier Old Men. Pop lived to be ninety five years old before God "remembered" him. And there are, or were, a lot of real old guys who lived that long despite bacon, smokes, questionable booze, and other so-called no-nos. Go figure.
Anyway, this is Monday. I have the day off from all jobs, and I am reading. This is a good thing. Between chapters, I do the boring tasks that make life less dusty and less messy.
I still do not know if there is a place for this biz after my upcoming anniversary. I have a few more work days planned and time to think about this. I and the calculator tried this configuration and that one and a few other oddball scenarios. Based upon what I am willing to do (which is very different than what is available to do), I identified three likely options. I could quit altogether and start another job; have an actual small business that requires so little time that I would scarcely notice its presence in my world; or be miserable and work it too much and make bigger bucks.
I like the second option. It permits another part-time job and a different ratio of earnings.
Bach is not noise, Madam. (Robert, in Two's Company)