Writing

I once had the burning desire to be a writer, and in fact purchased my first "real" computer to whack out the great American Novel. I made it through the first chapter, and then I discovered video games. I got quite good at them, too, even if they were keeping me from my appointed task. But I couldn't beat a game called "Baghdad" on my Commodore. Couldn't get past the dreaded Purple Genie on level 5, and when I asked a friend how I could add more lives or speed to my sprite, he told me I'd have to disassemble the program.

Being an electronics tech, I grabbed my screwdriver and thought I was ready to take it apart, but my friend took me down to the local K-Mart to purchase the Commodore Assembler/Disassembler. I taught myself 6502 assembly language to get an extra life in Baghdad... and the rest, as they say, is history.

Now my software engineering career is gone, via Canada to India, and I've got the farm. I'm making one third the money I was making ten years ago, but I'm three times happier. I never have to sit through endless design meetings with my chickens, and my cows couldn't care less if I have an approved model for feed storage. And one never normalizes goats: there's nothing normal about a goat.

So here I sit, computer on my lap, writing. Perhaps I've gone full circle, and now's the time to write. Or perhaps I'll get distracted by a cow in labor. Whatever. It's a pretty good life, all things considered.

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