It's always interesting when I'm asked what it is I do for a living.
"I write on the internet," I clarify.
That's when I see the invisible light bulb go off above their head. Which is when, inevitably, they ask, "Who do you write for?"
"I have my own website," I clarify.
That's when they wrinkle their foreheads and squint their eyes. Which is when, inevitably, they ask, "Why?"
Why indeed. Why not, I always reply.
I've been asked why a lot this past week. I'm tired of the whys. I don't know, it's none of your business, because I can, because I was tired, I was pigeonholed, I was embarrassed, I outgrew it, I was left behind, change is good. All of this. None of this.
I'm going to start telling people that 'blogging' is a fancy code word for being a dental assistant. I bet dental assistants never get asked why they do what they do where they do it.
Or maybe they do.
Speak up dental assistants everywhere. Spread your truths here, my space is yours.
I'm running things a bit differently up in this space. I've added an email subscription option if having my words delivered straight to your inbox floats your boat.
There is an RSS feed to if you prefer that method of delivery. The Magical and Awesome Schmutzie fixed it so that if you were already subscribed to my RNM feed you shouldn't notice a change. I don't know. I write blogs. And read them. I don't really understand how any of this works.
It's internet voodoo I tell ya.
Click here or click the tab that says 'Subscribe' up top under my name if either option interests you.
I'm your friendly neighbourhood voodoo priestess. Except, just like how RSS feeds, I know nothing about how voodoo works.
Finally, there are some introductions I'd like to make. I'd like you all to meet my family.
He goes by Bruce.
My first kid:
Her name is Ken.
His name is Nash.
His name was Skjel.
His name is Knox.
Oh, and then there's me:
I had a little work done recently. Does it show?
Here's to the B side and keeping it real.
(ps. No more comment captcha either. It's a bumpy ride, working out the kinks of the B side. Bear with me.)