When people tell me I’m courageous to write the things I do, they mean disclosure. Admittance. I put myself out there, cellulite and all, to be judged. The back fat, the smell, the ugly of it all. I have never given a shite what people think about any of it. My parents read this, coworkers, ex boyfriends, lovers, friends, and strangers. I don’t see that as courage.
What’s more courageous is to face things, pick them up, turn em over and examine the shadows and undersides of things. It’s not easy.
I don’t want people to cheer me up or make me laugh. I need to stew in it, and work through it in pages, paragraphs, outlines and arcs. Sort through categories in my archives if you can’t stand it. Or stop reading my site. I don’t give a shite.