Writers, write unless they are me…

K, fair warning to all who may read this. I am late to the blog party. Like really late, like how about I’ll finally start a┬áblog, after blogs have long since become passe. I will finally after claiming at 18 that my life’s goal was to write, begin to write at 44….

Why? I felt like I had to live before I would really have anything to say. Is that valid, maybe… but it just feels like a cop out to laziness now. I don’t write, except for work. I’ve been told I’m good at it… but I have also been grossly misunderstood. Have been accused of being ‘prickly’ (What the bleep does that mean?? NOT actionable feedback folks, just NOT) I already know I have BRF, you don’t have to tell me, I smile incessantly and make dumb jokes constantly to compensate for it… it can be exhausting at times. Being competent is apparently not enough, nor is being proactive, or volunteering for projects or actually caring enough to do the whole job and not pass it off, etc, etc, etc.

(I just heard Yul Brenner in my head)

I tell people I have a song lyric or movie line for every situation. I truly do, I know its a gift. Also I am Captain Obvious… but truly it’s hard not to point out the obvious when people can be soooo oblivious to life around them.

I do have stories to tell, things you may not believe, except they happened to me. So stay tuned if you wish. There’s always more to come…

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