Dirty Laundry

I've been spilling my guts here for a little over 3 years. Many of the people that read have been here nearly since day 1, and have watched a LOT of transition in my life. Many others have joined as a result of those transitions, hopping on board when Toys for Troops came to be, or as natural networking when new friendships comes about.

I try not to think about you, specifically, when I write. I've had to develop the courage to not worry about what you think, in order to write honestly, here. I love that I've come to be comfortable with my own convictions, and also with your accolades, your indifference, or your criticism.

That said, it's interesting to me, sometimes, when people assume certain things based on what they read here. At times, I have no idea what I wrote that invoked a given interpretation. Then again, sometimes I take certain humorous liberties and miss my mark .

More often than not, it is what I don't say that steers people in certain directions. Maybe I didn't tell you that that cooler full of beer also had ginger ale in it, because I'm the designated driver.

This is most interesting to me. I don't necessarily feel that everyone in the world is entitled to everyone else's every little truths.

I have never lied to you on this blog.

But neither do I tell every. little. thing. As a result, it becomes increasingly clear to me that you may just have the wrong idea about a thing or two, and I struggle with this:

How honest am I being with you?
How obligated am I to spill all of my guts, and represent myself more honestly?
Do I really owe it to you?
Will I feel better if I clear this up? Why, or why not?

You're probably all crazy-curious now, and I've made this larger than it is; any "reveal" will only serve to disappoint, I am sure.

The truth is, that I know the answers to those questions. I am under absolutely no obligation to tell you the more-private aspects of my life, my troubles. If you were to "call" me on it, I'd tell you what to take in a freezing lake. Darling.

But there's another part of me that feels a need to acknowledge that chaos and heartache sometimes exist, and not admitting them to you makes me feel a bit of a farce:

There is never any conflict in Lori's life. There are no photos ever taken in which she has a double chin or arm flaps, she never *ever* argues with her boyfriend or friends or her son or her family. She loves her job, pays all of her bills on time, and has never had a cavity in her life. She is understanding and constantly loving and Christ-like, and, to boot, you can eat off her floors any day of the week.

I hate to break it to you:

Bullshit.

My question to you, Fellow Bloggers, if you're feeling brave:

How much, really, do you censor yourselves?

Or is it none of my damned business?

I'll just jump in here and wait for your answer.