Belly Flopping Back Into Writing and Apparently I need a Niche

Robin Matteri:

I’d like to gracefully dive back in as a writer who shares a unique voice, and a seat at lunch with Oprah; however, I’m belly flopping into content marketing and sharing a seat at lunch with the cool kids at every writing forum I can find.

Originally posted on Perfectly Imperfect & Simply Chaotic Words:

My style of writing is like me —- Scattered. Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that I’m a creative writer who accidentally fell into online content writing in 2006. Prior to learning about assignments, deadlines, and keyword placement, I wrote in my black and white composition book and called it genius. Ok, I know, I know.

I’d like to gracefully dive back in as a writer who shares a unique voice, and a seat at lunch with Oprah; however, I’m belly flopping into content marketing and sharing a seat at lunch with the cool kids at every writing forum I can find.

“One of these days Oprah, one of these days.”

Say what!? A niche?

As an aspiring writer, I am completing applications for content mills as quickly as an email spammer announcing lottery winnings. It’s overwhelming, daunting, frustrating, and exhilarating all in one…

View original 508 more words

39 Blog Posts and The Chick Did WHAT?

Two days ago, I published my thirty-ninth post here at WordPress and it’s been a bit of a process for this “self-proclaimed” genius. Surprisingly, post number thirty-nine has been “my best day yet” according to the notification Gods working behind the wheel of analytics, and ironically, number thirty-nine is also my age. Interested yet?

Well, after you hear this, you’re going to reconsider the props I was given, and the attention you gave me. I’m willing to bet the number thirty-nine also represents my I.Q score.

Go 39

Go 39 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

Yep, friends, my rant about earning a forced education out of the pure desire to follow a dream, regardless of my economic status, had surpassed the prior thirty-eight posts I’d written after only one-hour of exposure. We were damn near viral (ok, a small exaggeration), I was getting excited, (insert more sarcasm), when the frustration with trying to customize a widget overpowered me. Approximately three minutes after the abundant accolades, I transferred my domain name to another site.

Edit DNS. Yes, I did.

My phone was blowing up—25, yes, that’s right, 25 new people had started following me within ONE HOUR.

I had no idea this “brilliant” idea was about to take my mental health hostage. You see, I didn’t have another server ready to go, or a plan, and I just jumped. Hmmm? I probably don’t need to warn you, but just in case… DO NOT CLICK developer links and bounce around like you’re a bad-ass, even if, you’re like me, and think thirty-eight published blog posts has now earned you a spot amongst the elite team of computer engineers, known as the Geek Squad.

A Best Buy Geek Squad Volkswagen New Beetle.

A Best Buy Geek Squad Volkswagen New Beetle. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Ummm, yah…. I’m that girl.

((FYI to all the Internet Editors: I KNOW this site is full of errors…. that’s just how I roll.))

Looking on the bright side, I can add another skill to my resume thanks to that mistake. YAH! My transcripts are looking marvelous. So, after a small break, I’ve returned. Guess what else? I changed everything here.

New Title…. CHECK!

New Logo….CHECK!

New Blogger….DAMN! Stuck with me.

Perfectly Imperfect & Simply Chaotic is so much more reflective of who I am, and how I navigate life. I’m on the edge of turning FORTY. There are some things about the DNA of ME that I can work on, and others that are inevitably inherent to WHO, and WHAT I’m supposed to be.

Edit DNA. No, I didn’t.

I’ve tried, he’s tried, she’s tried, the dog tried…. You get my point.

I blocked that transfer, put my big girl pants on, cleaned my shit up, and came back with an authentic voice.

Just like my blog. You’ll either love us or hate us, what ever you decide, thanks for the lesson.

 

The Irony: A Modern Day Madam Spammer

In dealing with mental health problems, it’s natural to also deal with self-esteem and self-worth issues which I find more and more ironic every day. Statistics indicate a significant amount of writers and authors who produce brilliant work, are also inflicted with issues concerning mental health. My favorite list is one from Listal that details award-winning authors and their actual or assumed diagnosis. Jack Kerouac was thought to be schizophrenic, Kafka endured years of severe depression, and many others were diagnosed with similar ailments.

Jack Kerouac

Cover of Jack Kerouac

Here’s an article about famous actors with mental health disorders.

The Irony?

I’m a PIMP! Yes, you heard me. I struggle daily with my talent to produce words, with overwhelming feelings of poor self-worth, inadequacies, and self-esteem problemos! BIG TIME!

English: Entrance to Madam Jojo's

English: Entrance to Madam Jojo’s (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

AND still…. I spend 5-8 hours a day pimping myself out to editors, social media sites, friends, family, and any damn person who’ll read something I wrote. I’m still baffled.

I’m too poor to hire someone so I pimp my writing out. A lot. My experience with pimping myself out has turned me into a modern day Madam—more commonly referred to as a “SPAMMER” — I admit it.

EVEN MORE ironic?

After intense pep talks with the friends living in my head (we need encouragement to “promote” my work), I become more depressed because of the obsession to check the stats on an hourly basis.

Like clockwork, I share a new blog on Facebook and almost ALWAYS immediately receive mobile notifications—“One friend ‘liked’ your new post.” My heart races, anticipation mounts…. 

THANKS MOM!                  

Self-pity, pimping, and on and on and on…..

Ironic!

(DAMN Nigerians are brilliant!)

Eight Year Old Tells Me to Take a Vacation….to BINGO! Huh?

I can’t decide if the YouTube video I posted of my eight-year-old telling me I need a vacation is a good thing, or his way of telling me to get the hell out of his face. Anyway, here’s a funny video of my son telling me to “take a break” at BINGO. His imitation of BINGO players and winning is hilarious (well, to me anyway!), and I hope you enjoy.


He’s obviously hoping to get famous with his shirtless video.

How Facebook Burned Me With Target Advertising

Well played Facebook, and the geniuses who run the marketing department. This advertisement just showed up in my News Feed. Ironic? Hardly. I’ve spent the last few days creating blogs like a machine (no kids this weekend!), and what-do-ya-know? The crickets are back, and my posts are going unnoticed.

I guess I need to get with the program and:

  1. Create Better Blogs For People to “Pretend” to Read
  2. Start Writing During the Week Like Normal People
  3. Wait Until Christmas Eve to Post My Next Masterpiece. 

Right? I mean, it’s only the last week of summer… I can’t be the only loser protecting my skin from cancer by parking it on the couch. Right?

Keep scrolling…I’d like to answer Facebook’s question….

Facebook Burn!

Well Played Facebook and the “target marketing” advertising geniuses!!

Dear Marketing Stalkers at Facebook,

Thanks for the cool ad today, obviously, you all are paying attention to my blog. Whoot! Whoot! And, looks like I’m not the only one working today either—the robots didn’t get the weekend off? Boo!

Anyway, to answer your question:

FACEBOOK: “Tired of Writing Great Articles that Nobody Reads?”

LOSER BLOGGER: “No! I’m not tired of creating hilarious blog posts for my MOM to read. She’s a HUGE fan. Personally, I think I’ll just grab a piece of scented stationary and a pen for the next blog. I’ll whip up some fancy paragraphs littered in calligraphy and send the post directly to her mail box. It’ll be cool.”

GOOD LOOKIN’ OUT FRIENDS! :)

 

Top 10 Funny Things My Grandpa Did Before Dying at Age 90

My nap was interrupted this morning by overwhelming thoughts of my grandpa. We called him Papa Matteri. It’s a good thing I love him so much (may he rest in peace!), because missing my A.M. snooze makes me a little cranky. Originally posted on Robin Matteri Facebook in 2011

Papa died about one-month shy of his 90th birthday, so don’t be sad, he lived a full life. His life was a mixture of ups and downs; some good, some bad, some stupid, and some sad.

 

Papa Matteri and Nicholas

Papa and Nicholas (Age 3) cruising all over town together.To my sister, my cousin, and me he was always good, and always hilarious. For no reason, I feel like sharing–I think we can all relate, even if the stories are a little different.

 

 

The Top 10 Funniest Things Papa Matteri Did (off the top of my head!) before dying at 90.

 

10. His desire to be deaf.

As a child, I remember my grandma constantly yelling at Papa about his hearing.

She told us repeatedly that he “only heard what he wanted to hear.” As a child, this never made sense to me. I finally understood her frustration when I was an adult. The aggravation of trying to have a conversation with him became, at times, so unnerving that I just walked away.

 

Typical Conversation went like this:

Me: “You need hearing aids!!”

Papa:“Huh?”

Me:”Heeeaaarrrrinnngggg A-I-D-S!”

Papa: “Oh, shit, I can’t hear you.”

 

This exact interaction occurred between him and every member of my family on a daily basis.

 

9. Who wants to spy on Papa?

Let’s just say that as children we weren’t as fortunate as the youth of today with an abundance of technology. When we played, we had to get creative.

My grandpa worked the night shift at Hank’s Deli and would typically sleep a lot during the day. With nothing better to do, Michelle, Alan and I would crawl around the house like we were in the army, creep into Papa’s room with super stealth-like moves and totally mess with him.

We’d tickle his toes with a feather, tickle his nose or just crawl around trying not to laugh. The object of the game was to piss Papa off (for some reason), and we always won.

 

8. Yeah, I have my license, I can drive. I was 14.

He owned a 1972 Chevy Pick-Up (still parked out on the Ranch somewhere), and I wanted to drive. We were twenty-two miles north of Patterson when I asked him.

Papa's Chevy Robin Matteri Facebook

The Chevy Pick-Up- Maybe in not so much of its glory these days…but still alive.

 

I about panicked when he pulled to the side of the road on Highway 33, got out of the pick-up, walked to the passenger side, and told me to take over.

I made it less than a mile before I started crying, and fessed up.

 

7. Want to kill him and bury him in the backyard?

Ummmm, No.

I cross my heart; he was just acting macho. No one is buried in the backyard.

Papa ain’t that gangsta!

My Grandpa Being Funny

Papa Matteri and Tyler. He was always a funny man to us.

 

 

6. Who bought Papa, a cell phone?

Why, thank you Alan. In the event of an emergency, Alan thought it would be good for Papa to have a cell phone. Well, unlike the rest of my family, I answered when he called 300 times a day. Please refer to number ten on this list and imagine those calls.

 

5. His love of poker.

Back in the day (40-50 years ago), the hottest poker game in town and on the streets was called Lo-Ball. Papa loved his poker.

As the name implies, the object was to get the lowest five-card hand instead of the highest in most poker games.

Now, please keep this in mind: With seventeen years experience in the world of poker and casinos, I have heard everyone use “bad luck” to defend their losses in gambling. In most cases, luck had nothing to do with it.

Most people lose because they play poorly.

However, in all those years, I will confirm TWO people who truly had bad luck at the poker table.

One was Papa.

When I started dealing poker in the Central Valley, Papa began to become a more frequent customer.

“Looks like you’re working for free today Robin,” said my supervisor whenever he walked through the door. The entire card room called him Papa, and every time he played, I bankrolled him with my tips.

He could never figure out how to play “that stupid high game” (as he called it), so he sat down playing Omaha, a version of high and low poker. Without boring you non-poker people with all the details, let’s just say it’s a hard game.

Let’s also say that in small poker rooms customers are enticed to play with promotions and jackpots worth thousands of dollars. Poker players everywhere are waiting to hit the “jackpot” to break even from their losses.

One night I walked up behind Papa, as he was in a hand of Omaha, and I heard him say, “raise!”

He was excited; his hands were shaking like a leaf (odd for a veteran like him), and he couldn’t wait to dump all his chips into the pot.

Which he eventually did after a series of re-raises between two players. Papa, of course, was one of them.

When Papa was out of chips, it was time for the showdown. This is the part where the players turn their cards face-up.

I looked at Papa’s hand, and there it was in all its beauty…… 3-3-3-3. Quad 3’s. As Papa started to get excited, his opponent turned his hand over and beat him with a Straight Flush.

Papa was about 80 at the time, and this was the first time he had ever made a hand this big. AND OF COURSE, it got beat. And to kick an old man while he was already down, the hand didn’t qualify for any promotional jackpot. Papa got screwed that night. But don’t worry, he didn’t lose any money, I did.

He was back the following day as if nothing ever happened.

 

4. Papa and his scooter.

There are so many funny things to say about this and then, of course, there is a picture that will forever be in my heart. Him on his scooter and Nicholas on his tricycle, cruising around as happy as can be. BUT, the funniest thing ever was the time he ran Uncle Jack over with that thing—-TWICE!

Papa Matteri on his scooter after running Uncle Jack over

Looks like he’s aiming for Uncle Jack now.

It had apparently been having some problems so Uncle Jack said he would look at it. As he was inspecting the front-end, Papa hit the accelerator and knocked Jack to the ground. Funny huh?

Well, imagine what happened when Uncle Jack attempted to examine the rear of the vessel? You guessed it; one wrong move and Papa backed over Jack.

Happiness is witnessing those moments.

 

3. An illegal left turn.

As Papa approached 87 or 88-years old, the California Department of Motor Vehicles made him take a behind-the-wheel driving test before they would renew his license. Thank you DMV!

Papa failed this test due to an illegal left-hand turn on a red light.

Of course, his failed test was my fault.

According to Papa, I had messed with his visor earlier in the day, which obstructed his view, and caused him to think that under the RED light, there was a green arrow instructing drivers to turn left.

My bad!

 

2. All these old people.

 

At one point in Papa’s life, he was forced to stay in a nursing home to recover from a hospital visit. It was minor; his stay was short and we visited almost every day. He was 88 years-old.

At one visit, he looked at me and said, “all these old people are making me depressed.” I freaking busted up laughing.

First of all, he had them all out-aged by at least 20 years, and second, every time we visited he would lay in his bed and all dramatic about his situation. Seriously, it was a wound on his leg that was taking a long time to heal. However, the drama king didn’t realize how depressed he made us by begging us to kill him on every single visit.

“Just put a pillow over my head!”—Papa from the Nursing Home to Me

OMG…… oh and while I’m thinking about it….thanks to the facility for also allowing him access to a PHONE!!

“Robin come kill me. Robin, come kill me”

To which I responded:

“I can’t Papa. Tyler and Nicholas need a mom who isn’t in prison.”  

My bad….again!

 

1. Going to Alaska.

In 2005, Papa was about 82 or 83-years old, when he called me. “Robin, I’m going to Alaska.”

Say what??!!

Papa needed me to go with him to Modesto to get his birth certificate so he could get a passport, because he was “going to drive an old man and his camping trailer to Alaska so the old man could go fishing.”

Deep breath.

The “old man” was 90 and blind. Why was this happening? How did no one in the family try to stop him? Why were we already at the point in this mission where he was convinced he was going? Why was I getting in my car to take him to get his birth certificate?

Well, because he was an old man. To hell with it. Let it be known now, since it’s obvious they made it to Alaska and back safely, that Papa had very little feeling in his feet and had to tap his hands continuously because they felt numb all the time.

The deaf old man (refer to number 10), and the blind old man took a three-week journey to Alaska and back. If I had honestly thought they were going all the way, I would have contacted Hollywood and installed hidden cameras. I thought for sure Papa would get to Sacramento (the next day) and say something similar to this: “forget this, I’m going home.”

But, he didn’t.

He took that old man fishing.

Man, I miss him.

Suck it Grammar!

I suck at grammar, so sue me. Since my inception (is that the right word?) into this industry, I’ve been struggling to learn how to properly punctuate a sentence. The only problem? I’m using the term “learn” loosely. The truth is, I’ve been lazy. Editors have picked up the slack for me. I’ve been reprimanded for horrible uses of the comma, the semi-colon, and of course, the exclamation point!

It sucks even more that I claim to be a writer but lack the necessary equipment to qualify as one. I couldn’t be a plumber without a plunger.

Or, could I?

I began writing by accident, and I didn’t think I’d ever make it this far, so I didn’t care too much about brushing up on (or learning, for that matter!) English. I wanted to write words, lyrics, poetry, and creative essays.

To be honest, I didn’t have a fair shot from the get go anyway. I learned nothing in high school about writing, grammar, English, punctuation, or rules. NO JOKE…. I even spent my senior year in HONORS ENGLISH. (That just occurred to me.) I came from a very small farming community— population 1,300 people. Anyway…. it gets better, I promise……

English: penulis = writer

English: penulis = writer (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My high school English teacher called me Sparrow. His play on words did not go over my head.

Sparrow, the species of birds ——> Robin, the species of the birds.

Sparrow Brain ——-> Dense

Hence ———-> Sparrow

He was hilarious, or so he thought, and probably dead now.

I obviously got an inadequate education in anything to do with punctuation, grammar, and the rules of the English language (I already said that), although I’m pretty sure I was taught something. I can’t blame it all on Mr. Griffin. Can I?

English: Pink Pearl eraser from Paper Mate.

English: Pink Pearl eraser from Paper Mate. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In college (community college, that is!), I scored so low on the English portion of my entry exams, I’m assuming the administration thought I was from Russia, and that English was my second language. I was placed in English 125BCD (or something dumb like that), and remember being shocked at the syllabus. I’m pretty sure we had to study spelling, and how to keep a journal. Once again, NO JOKE, I still have the book, and the only thing I remember from that class was how to annotate as I read. Which to me—considering I was from B.F.E., was the coolest thing I was ever taught.

For the record: I still write in every book I read. “I learned that in college, YO!”

Considering I only lasted three semesters in school, I failed to complete anything beyond the “English for the Lazy” (note: I’m ONLY referring to myself here. Considering there was absolutely NO GOOD reason for me to score so poorly, I can only chalk it up to stubbornness and laziness.

So, today, as I attempt to live as a full-time writer, I understand the perception of my authority is based largely on my ability to SPELL, and PUNCTUATE.

Until recently, I assumed a grammar-editing program was cheating, but apparently, it’s not cheating at all. It’s called being smart!

Have no fear friends with hypothetical red ink pens! I have paid for Grammarly and will no longer bother you with inadequate writing skills (just kidding!).

I write as I speak, rarely use a thesaurus, and become confused with an overload of lessons I’m rushing to learn. I’m developing the curriculum for educating myself, and that, my friends, takes a lot of time.

My freestyle writing days are behind me.

Live well, and comma on! <—— (did I get that right?)

 

Note: This post was checked using the software program. If there is any additional editing required in this piece, please direct your comments to the help desk at Grammarly.

*Post originally posted at Bubblews.com by Robin Matteri*

Today I Became the Parent to an Adult

I’m the official parent of an adult. If this revelation doesn’t make a girl feel old, welp, nothing will. I never thought this day would come, for two reasons:

  1. I’m pretty sure I should be dead by now.
  2. I’m no different than any other mother who thinks their child is still learning how to crawl, and needs the cheerios cut in half.

Yes, friends… my son is EIGHTEEN today. I’m sure he’s out buying lottery tickets, cigarettes, and adult magazines (if I raised him right, he is!) right now. AFTER ALL, I planned his birth so perfectly that his admission into adulthood fell on a Friday. The party I had for him tonight should have been for me. 

My son and I age 10

I did all the work—from creation, to carrying, to pushing, to raising, to panicking…. I’m the one who had to quit drinking and smoking for nine months (give or take!), and he just pooped out into the world like, “WAT up lady! I’m gonna give you a heart-attack by the time you’re thirty.”

And I, like a naive new mother, just stared at him in amazement. 

But, all joking aside—I love this boy. :) 

 

My son is eighteen and I'm the parent of an adult.

He is now an adult, and I couldn’t be prouder.

 

How I Discovered the Internet: Late to The Party Again

In 2000, I accidentally landed my first real office job. I worked in a cubicle (OK, semi-office job), as a call center representative with thirty-three co-workers in a space built for about five. It was here I learned why the world loved the nine to five lifestyle, and why office jobs were so popular.

    The Internet.

English: An image of a lot of cubicles that se...

English: An image of a lot of cubicles that seem to go on forever (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In between calls, we were allowed to use the Internet to enhance our skills as customer service reps. We were allowed to read, learn, and surf the Web during down time as long as goals were met and call quality remained top-notch.

Keep in mind, the Internet was “relatively” new back in those days. There wasn’t easy access to the world via smartphone, there were FEW laptops (if any), and people with home computers were “special” and “rich”–in my mind anyway.

So, this newly discovered vessel was unbelievably exciting to me.

These office prodigies educated me, and I was in awe!

I had spent my adult life working nights as a poker dealer, and a bartender. I worked nights because the tips were better, and had never had an office job.

I had adamantly refused to be normal and couldn’t imagine working in an office or working for a paycheck.

It all became clear one morning, on the third floor, in a small office space, in the middle of Wisconsin…….

Bored.com became my favorite website during those breaks intended to enhance my productivity, and level of expertise in the field of customer service. It was also during this time as well that my cyber-social life began to explode.

Couldn’t wait to get to work every day.

I learned how to email, how to find old friends at reunion sites (WAY before Facebook), and after a quick call to my mom, learned to send an attachment. I wrote letters to people I hadn’t “seen in forever” (I  graduated high school seven years earlier), and loved keeping in touch with the group of friends I had just moved away from in California.

Wisconsin was amazing, but the homesick was beginning to set in. Email correspondence cured that.

I emailed everyone (I was popular, ya know!) and waited eagerly for responses. That same year I learned how to use the “refresh” button and found myself cutting customers off so I could refresh my email account. I loved this form of communication.

I “talked” to my Chris the most. He had just graduated from Sacramento State, and found a writing job that allowed him to travel, interview, and share his love of music.

I think I was secretly jealous.

Chris sent me (and still does, by the way), the most hilarious emails ever! During my time in Wisconsin he amused me with stories about the drunk girls we used to work with, his tortured life interviewing Primadonna (not MADONNA!) music artists, and perspectives on the world that he “needed to write” about.

At this point in my life, I was still taking ball point to the Composition book and calling it poetry.

I was totally jealous.

My diligence as a daily journal-keeper had dwindled. I was rarely inspired to write unless drunk, and the illusion of putting music to my words was beginning to fad. I was 25-years old, and my chance at fame had long passed. I was too old to ever be a songwriter, (and too over-dramatic to take a peek at reality!).

Old school email.

The second logo for AOL, used from 2006–2009

So I wrote emails-For the very first time in my life.

JAN 8, 2001
DEAR CHRIS,
THAT WAS THE FUNNIEST EMAIL I HAVE EVER READ!!!!!!!! MAN, I MISS YOU GUYS. THOSE CHICKS ARE STUPID AND SO MUCH DRAMA!! GOOD FOR US THOUGH BECAUSE THEY MAKE THE BEST STORIES. WE NEED TO BECOME WRITERS!!!!! LETS WRITE SOMETHING!!! CASINO STUFF? ANYWAY—-WISCONSIN IS COLD AS SHIT BUT SO MUCH FUN. ILL CALL YOU AGAIN SOMETIME WITH ANOTHER DRUNK KARAOKE SONG TO SING YOU? CAN YOU BELIEVE SOMEONE GAVE ME A JOB AS A BARTENDER/ FUNNY!!!!!!!! GOTTA TAKE A CLL- WRITE BACK SOON
ROBIN

————————————————————-

January 8, 2001
Dear Robin,
Okay, I can’t handle it anymore, what the hell is up with your emails? Every time I read one of them, I feel like you’re yelling at me. HAHAHA! The ALL CAPS, and exclamation points scare me!!!!!

Anyway, the girls here are still the same-hilarious, chain-smoking, white trash, and always ready to party. Of course I love them.

Well, I have to go—-I think my Editor is going to make me interview Britney Spears this week (I WANT MADONNA!), and I’m loathing the thought of it. I have no idea what sort of questions to ask because I could care less.

Talk to you soon.

Chris

———————————————-

<

p style=”padding-left:30px;”>JANUARY 8, 2001
CHRIS!!!!!!!!!!
WHAT THE HELL!!  I DON’T KNOW HOW TO TYPE!! WITH THE SHIFT THINGY AND SHIT—-IT’S CONFUSING!!! I DIDN’T’ TAKE TYPING BECAUSE I DIDN’T EVER PLAN ON HAVING A TYPEWRITER OR BEING A SECRETARY!!! HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO PREDICT THE FUTURE AND KNOW COMPUTERS AND THE INTERNET WOULD TAKE OVER? IT TAKES ME 45 MINUTES TO FIND LETTER G. I HATE THIS SHIT. 

——————— It took me about six years to type well enough to attempt a career as a writer. In addition to passing on the chance to take a typing class, I also had a drunk as a high-school English teacher. I was never formally trained to write. You can read more about my English teacher, (who called me Sparrow, instead of Robin, lol!), and my miseducation (<—-got that word from Lauryn Hill) in the art of punctuation, and grammar-“Suck It Grammar!” that I published at Bubblews.

My apologies if I offend you. I do pay for grammar software, but sometimes even it gives up on me.

By The Time I’m 40 Facebook Archives of My Life From 2009

 

Over the course of my history on Facebook, I have shared everything about my life. Here is one from the archives that has put a little pressure on me. In 2009, I had a goal— Oops! I had 4 years and 364 days to accomplish it but like always, I’ve procrastinated. 100 days to go…. 

 

 

By the Time I'm 40

Facebook Archives of my Life Infographic- By the Time I’m 40.