A Word of Explanation

I want to be honest with you.

This is not usually the place to look for honesty. In my head I call this my “entertainment blog.” I write here to amuse myself and to help your days pass a little more brightly, and I tend to steer pretty clear of my own pathos. But . . .

Remember all those New Year’s resolutions? All those vows to get healthy and become a better person?

We’re now 100 days out from my thirtieth birthday, and I haven’t been slacking. The weight is slowly coming off - 23 pounds so far - and with this year’s theme of “no regrets,” I am steadily tracking down people from the past and doing my best to make amends.

Still, you may remember that I had some work to do on my own character.

The post you’ll find below is the result of my beginning that work. As I examined why I have become so unkind and obstinate, I acknowledged that I have several facets, some of which are on display nearly all the time and some that are crushed nearly to obliteration. It’s those ignored parts, the gentle and the passionate ones, that I would like to rekindle.

So that I could reconnect with each of my voices, the following piece was written from four perspectives, each one a part of my person. It follows my life from childhood up to today; for my “cicada readers” who I only get in touch with once every seven years, it may help you to have some background:

Briefly, after college I worked for an agency for children with autism. I loved the kids but the workers were badly treated. After I found my friend crying because another snafu had left her without a paycheck, I called a labor union and began a campaign to organize my workplace. In the course of organizing, I grew close to and fell in love with another teacher at the school, my husband T-Bone. We won the campaign, went to work for the labor union, got married, decided organizing wasn’t for us, I went to massage school, he worked his heart out and got fired anyway, and now here we are.

You guys, this was probably the most difficult thing I’ve ever written. I don’t know if it’s “good” writing. And it may be pretty f---ing scary. But it’s true, and rank exhibitionist that I am, for better or for worse, whether you “get” it or hate it or are just left scratching your head, I am sharing it with you.