On a drive home from work I call mom, because my car can do that now and I need something to do on my 45 minute commute. We were discussing hobbies and things and I kept putting myself down: “My nesting partners are so creative with building things with their hands! All I do is stream video games and write for my blog.”

She goes, “What sort of things do you write?”

I reply, “Oh, anything that comes to mind.” And, I added with only a little hesitation: “I’ll send you a link.” To my credit, I actually did in a rather tight amount of time. And I did not forget, either.

In retrospect, I was only a little apprehensive. When I Officially Came Out on Facebook last year, there was only a little bit of apprehension then, too. I’m about to be 40 in a few years. It’s time I stopped pussyfooting to others about my truth. I’m also a firm believer in Show, Don’t Tell, so while I could’ve summed up my blog with “Introspection, Observations, and Rants” I really thought it better to just show it to her.

Besides, she knows what sorta weirdo I am already.

A blog is very reminiscent of how I handled my composition notebooks when Harriet the Spy was popular in the 90s. As the opposite of Harriet M. Welsh I did let anyone read my journal (and, thanks to the hard lesson she learned, I also learned to keep the really mean juicy bits in my head)! It was full of observations, quotes, song lyrics, boring day stuff, and doodles. In high school, a classmate was so enamored over the phrase “Satan’s Day” I penned that morning that he read the passage to the entire class! While it lacked malicious intent, said passage was still raw in my mind during that time, and I just felt mortified.

So, maybe I’m just predisposed to writing publicly about things. Just, you know, No Adults Allowed until I became one. And, perhaps, not so fiercely private– mom can attest to this; I was always as such from when I was a child. It was so I wouldn’t even tell her the nightmares I had so she could comfort me, and I refused to practice the recorder instrument in the house. I opted to make weak flute noises in the car, with all the windows rolled up.

Well, there’s still no nightmares here, and you won’t be getting context for Satan’s Day. Just things I’d like to share. If you’ve read my disclaimer you know the drill.

As for my mom’s response: she cried. But not in that “jfc you still think Garfield is funny” disappointed crying, the “you are so much like your dad, with your way with words and creativity” crying. Because he also wrote poetry and was a pretty damn good drawer to boot. I like to think I got my flair for storytelling from him, too… and my tendency to troll people. You know, annoy them a little. Like not telling people what the fuck Satan’s Day alluded to.

I’m proud of what I write, except maybe that one post on Halloween a few years back or so. So this was also like “ma lookit me” as I run up to her and show her my crayon drawing of flowers and rabbits.