Ever notice how hard it is to talk about yourself? I can talk TO myself with disturbing ease…but talking ABOUT myself, not so much.
I grew up in West Virginia. Now, don’t let that image throw you off. I’ve usually got on shoes, I’ve never dated a relative, and I have all my teeth. Growing up, it seemed like a normal place actually. And, for the most part, it is. I’ve got an interesting “blended” family. My mom and dad divorced when I was like two. Mom went on to marry again (and again), gave me a sister, and still gives me a headache. Dad remarried too, and near as I can tell, they both meant it when they said “til death do us part.” My stepmother had a very young son from her previous marriage, and when I was a teenager they added another brother (completing their collection of “his”, “hers”, and “their” sons).
I’ve been pretty blessed in life. I landed my dream job right out of college–so unlike most people I don’t dread coming to work (at least most days) It’s usually fun and rewarding, but I’ll retire in a minute as soon as my Powerball numbers come in.
I like to read, and now that I have this little blog, I like to write, too. Actually, I’ve always enjoyed writing, I just haven’t had any means to do it for the past decade. I enjoy traveling, and try to get a few trips in each year. I’d like to say that I enjoy home improvement, but I’ve found the only thing that I’m good at doing myself is writing a check. That doesn’t stop me from tinkering (a kind way of saying “screw something up and then hire a pro”).