Okay, so that title completely eliminates any chance of me twitting anyone about this week's posts: It's like 1200 characters and says virtually nothing. This is to what I was probably referring (even I can never be sure): You remember when you were eight and you knew only about a handful of professions? Teacher, fireman, police officer... I wasn't even sure what my father did.
It's not that it was illegal or anything. I remember the words "Business Man" being batted around. I thought that was a profession: Teacher, fireman, police officer, business man.
Okay, so I wasn't terribly bright. The funny thing is: I'm still that way. I think it has to do with being in the Arts (and the ARTS, ar ar ar). Artists don't always understand "real" careers.
This week, we'll discuss some real careers: Medical professionals inside the fertility clinic: What credentials each needs and which actual link they are in our baby making chain. It kind of goes with this week's Health Expert article. More on that in a sec.
Now back to me. For some reason, I like chatting about my senility. It's liberating. It's my twisted version of not dying the gray out of your hair. I'm embracing my decline.
Writers are known for being extremely observant... Not me.. I'm the most oblivious writer you'll ever meet.
At my (non-writing) job, I can talk with a client for twenty minutes. She can be crying, cursing, threatening me with a stapler. Ten minutes later, she can come back and still be irate six inches from my face again and not even look the least bit familiar to me.
But I'm aware of my lack of awareness. So, just as a precaution, before I speak to every client I call security.
So, back to professions. My point is, I'm oblivious to what people really do for a living. Unless your job has a maximum three word title, my mind's software reads: "Does not compute."
Teacher, Writer, Baseball Player, Architect, Police Officer, Restaurant Server, Fire Fighter, Lawyer, Accountant. I get all of those, but if you hve to start explaining, and the first words out of your mouth are: "What our company does"....you may as well not even finish the sentence...
I have a twitter memory. By the time you've gotten out 140 characters I've flatlined. And I can't blame it on age. I can't even blame it on twitter. I've been this way since the eighties.
You know how many guys I dated back then, some for months at a time, and someone would ask me: "So what does he do for a living?"
"Couldn't tell ya. It involves a suit I think. He seems to wear them a lot."
Take a look if you can at the brand spanking new article featured in "The Health Experts" this week: "Quality Assurance in the Fertility Lab." It's written by Carole Wegner, an embryologist, and tells what really goes on behind the scenes at a fertility clinic.
Listen, I've gotta go. I have to get to a dentist. I have a throbbing pain in my mouth. It's okay. Nothing that a $2000 deductible can't cure.