Labor Day, 2017

It’s Labor Day.

So just where did summer go? It was actually in the fifties this past Friday.

It’s Labor Day.

And unlike two-thirds of my fellow geezer-boomers, I’m still laboring. I suppose I could pack it totally in, but I (mostly) enjoy my work. It’s defined me for so long, I don’t know quite what I’d have to say if I put my pencil and pen down permanently. If nothing else, it let’s me say “I’m a writer.” Okay, it’s not exactly fabulous creative writing that I’m doing – no short stories in The New Yorker, no novel in the making – but it’s writing. I’m good at it. And I get paid to do it. So, yep, I’m a writer. A laboring writer. A laboring writer who’s partially taking Labor Day off. The part I’m taking off is the part that pertains to Pink Slip: this is pretty much it for the post for today.

But in the last month, while in the midst of seriously considering calling it quits, I picked up a new client. And a new prospect. So, worker me is worker bee, and I have a couple of deliverables that need to be delivered tomorrow.

Anyway, when it comes to Labor Day, I’m something of a broken record. If you want to see what I had to say last year, here you go. (Oh, what a POTUS…)

Happy Labor Day to all, and to all a good day.