I’m a writer. I write. When I’m not writing I’m out living my crazy life collecting experience to feed my writing.
I am an author of an unpublished book. Or two. Two small books. One big one? Aww, hell. I write.
I am a poet. I write poems. Not as many as I used to, but still. I write them. Still a writer.
I’ve modeled. I’m willing to model again. Does that make me a model? Don’t tell anyone. They’ll think I’m thin and beautiful.
I’m a photographer. I’ve taken photographs. Evidently I’ve taken thousands of them. So, I suppose I’m a photographer, too. I even got paid once.
I’m a singer. I sing. Mostly in the car these days. Or in the front yard when I’ve had a bit to drink. But I’ve done it in front of a crowd. With a band. I think some people even clapped once.
I’m a fire spinner. I spin fire. I’m a novice really, but I can do it without lighting my own head on fire. (Knocks on wood.)
I’m a gardener. I plant things in the dirt and watch their green shoots spring from the ground eventually blossoming and fruiting and feeding my family. Does it really get much better than that?
I was a pig farmer, too. I owned pigs. I lived on a farm. So if we follow the same logic above I was indeed a pig farmer.
I was a vegetarian. I’ve returned to the world of omnivores. Does that make me a reformed or former vegetarian? Or do I just revert to omnivore status and pretend it never happened?
I was a data analyst for ten years. I thought I couldn’t get away. Then I became a Mommy, and the decision was made for me. Now, I have time to blog, write, wax poetic, take photographs, create crazy art, and work on publishing my novel.
My life is beautiful.