Greetings from the Cerebral Vortex

There was once a bizarre TV show in the late 60's starring William Windom as cartoonist James Thurber.
(A gold star and a smiley face to the person who can name the show).
Each week, the show opened with a monologue, punctuated by the tag line "This is my world, and welcome to it."
It is the perfect greeting for this 'blog.
I am a writer. A real, honest-to-goodness, get-paid-for-my-words columnist.
Notice that nowhere in that little intro did I include the term "well-paid."
However, as I have been reminded repeatedly by my peers and colleagues, and has been converted into a daily mantra by my boss, professional writers do it for the love, not for the money.
There is an incredible amount of truth in that perspective, but it's still hard to convince the electric company that they should accept some of my "psychic income" (my boss's term for positive karma) as payment for last month's power bill.
But the fact remains that I love to write.
I've always loved to write, starting in fourth grade where I wrote my first "book," which was a collection of 2" x 4" strips of paper where I wrote some dull little fourth grade tale, then stapled the pages into a ten-page manuscript.
After graduating high school with numerous "bon voyage" messages scribbled in my yearbook by classmates, with offerings of premature congratulations on my pending future as a world-famous writer, I embarked on my pre-destiny.
The first stop was in a chemical factory, where I worked for a decent wage wading through floor wax and window cleaner, with the promise/self-delusion that this was a temporary pit stop to gather money for the journey.
Then I met a girl, got married, got a car, car loan payments, insurance, and rent.
My mistress, (the written word), continued to wait patiently as I worked my way through a string of ever-improving salaries needed for the new mortgage, and the furnishings, the pool, the new new car and it's twin sister, the new new car loan.
Then, a divorce, a move to a new state, a new life, new friends, a new wife, kids...
One day I woke up and I was 41.
It had been so long since I had even flirted with my mistress that I had forgotten her face.
Frantic to ensure that she hadn't abandoned me, I answered an ad in a local Gannett daily newspaper.
They were looking for volunteers to write a column once each month.
For free, of course.
I applied, was one of the 20 lucky applicants chosen from a pool of over 60, and began my menstrual monologues, writing a new column every 28 days.
I learned that my mistress hadn't abandoned me. In fact, our relationship blossomed and became even stronger.
Like most amorous obsessions, and all sexual ones, I discovered that once a month was not enough.
So at 42 years of age, with the blessing and backing of the most wonderful wife a man could ever hope for, I did the unthinkable.
I walked away from a high-paying vice-president's position with an insurance firm to answer an ad for a sports writer at a small weekly newspaper two states away.
For about half the salary.
Now, a year later, I'm broke but extremely happy with my place in life.
I've been recognized twice by the Nevada Press Association, I'm now the sports editor of that little newspaper, which has grown to a circulation of nearly 9,000 and publishing twice a week.
More importantly, I've started writing a weekly humor column, with an eye toward national syndication within the next year.
That weekly column, published in the Mesquite, Nevada newspaper called the Desert Valley Times, will be the basis for this 'blog, along with other seminal and urinal scribings posted every day.
As you may have already surmised, brevity is not one of my shining attributes.
However, I assure you that all postings outside of the weekly Workman Chronicles column will be less than 350 words.
Or maybe less than 400 words.
Definitely no more than 500.
My challenge is to make those obese scratchings worth enduring, with the stated aim of making you smile, making you laugh, and making you think.
I’m honored that you chose to click on this site, and I hope you find it worth a return visit.
With a noble nod to Mr. Windom, I open this door to the swirling funnel cloud which tosses twisted thoughts and convoluted perspectives around the Kansas trailer park that is my mind.
I hope you like it.
It’s my world.
Welcome to it.