I am witty.
I am not bragging, I am witty, I know it. Several people know it. Mostly people that know me know it. Well, actually, it’s only the people that know me that know it.
At work, I was asked to occasionally write something for the office newsletter. I had always complied. I assume I was successful at it, because I was asked to do it again. And again.
I am now retired. Yippee for me!
I was told (several times) that I should write when I retire.
So, I am writing. A blog.
But what to write about? At work, I didn’t have to choose the topics, they were handed to me as assignments. Easy Peasy!
Now, I must write something so profound that the world will never be the same after reading it.
But, what?
I asked others about their blogs. One coworker blogs about making spaghetti sauce for dinner. Another one blogs about changing the colour of her hair. One blogs about how many bow ties and suspenders he has.
I stopped asking.
I am now going to blog about my ramblings, by babbles, my rants, my ravings, my brilliant insights on life, but basically providing you with the nonsense that is in my head.
I can do this. I am a professional. The definition of a professional is someone that gets paid for their service. Yes, I was paid to write the newsletter articles. I was paid in coffee and muffins. But it was still payment.
And so, it begins!