The 80s called; they don’t want me back.
I entered the 80s as an insecure, sheltered, and repressed 15-year-old and emerged as a married college grad who had an inkling that life might not take the expected trajectory of kids, grandkids, and retirement somewhere sunny. In the 90s, I escaped to library school without any plan except that I was tired of working for the weekend (sorry about the Loverboy earworm). I’ve never shaken my Gen-X angst. I’ve never remarried. I not only “work for the weekend,” but now I get to cajole others into doing the same. I have several cats. That’s all you need to know about me, because I’m not special. I’m Generation X.