It's like banging your head against a wooden pole. Slapping (I hate "facepalm" so much!) your cheeks till your palms turn red. Write or die. That's my story. You can call me crazy, and no it's not maybe. This writing thing has my number. And keeps on ringing it. Ringining and ringining. Tingining life 'to.
Vanity. That's the root of it. With hunched shoulders, right slightly higher than left, telling the world I can do lots of other things. Numbers? Yes! I can do numbers. I can crunch and pivot and OLAP the life out of data. Code? Yes! I won't write it because I go catatonic when I attempt to, but I sure know how other people do and I can make their code crash any time I want to. Enterprise Architecture? Waddahek. Give me all your org stuff and I'll TOGAF and Archimate your org knots until they're all laid out in neat straight lines.
And also because I'm such a pok-pok. There isn't anything I won't do if I'm paid well enough to do it.
Except, I've noticed that lately all that people want to pay me for is write!
So I'm back. But this time, I'm backer! Because now, this thing I'm writing for isn't pure pokpokan. There's also pukpukan! Real honest to goodness investigative data-driven journalism which they now call content marketing. Which is really just another marketing ploy meant to impress old people who actually understand new media except new people would rather they don't.
And I'm loving it this time. So I'll probably revive this blog which I hope no one reads because it might be self-incriminating. I might again be accused of Sottoporting, which meant the accusers didn't read what I wrote. Over the last year I found out that content curation and blogging are conjoined at the butt. I need to blog again.
