So, fair blog reader. Thanks for coming back.
I hope it has been clear since the beginning of my blogging about my experiences in building, abandoning, and returning to with gusto the LC, that I do not consider myself infallible.
I specifically have written my story about the Commons in a way that keeps you from thinking too highly of me. I did this as a sort of caveat to my gonzo telling of it; a way for you to hear my side of the story without thinking you necessarily have to be on my side in it. (You don't get the other side, and so I'll act like a jerk so you can be mad at me too.) Intention quote.
And someone reflected that back to me today. Either an intimate of the parties in question, or perhaps just a moral compass, passing by on the turbulent seas of the blogosphere, I don't know which, graciously reminded me of something that I ignored in order to get the story out. This person, who remains anonymous, not because I want to keep him anonymous necessarily, but because he keeps himself so on the interweb, I assume to remain infallible, said that he was disgusted by my tone.
And I realized, that I too was disgusted by my tone. I was disgusted by so much over the last two years, and I purposefully let that disgust come through in my tone on my blog about said disgusting events. I make no apology for my feelings and statements regarding Army and Army Jr. Everything I said was true. But I started thinking about myself, and what standard I hold for myself. Do I consider the story more important than my own sense of ease and self-respect? Do I want to wallow in the failures of myself and others? Do I want to explore negative themes and seek catharsis and freedom from my memories by airing the laundry?
And upon careful thought: YES! I do want the story to be more powerful than its characters' egos! Goddamned right I do. Because we don't grow as individuals by holding onto our courtesy. It's easy to be courteous and diplomatic. We're always sweeping the dust under the rug; and the rug grows a mound, and then we trip over our own dead skin under a heavily worn comfort blanky. What really happened, really happened. And it's a great story! It's a story that deserves being told. Not for my ego to feel like I am right, I fuck up daily, just ask my parents, my friends, my kid and my wife. I have no illusions that there's a perfection to be attained. My ego is battered and bruised as a lifestyle. It's a letting. And yet, I only have my side of the story to tell.
Nevertheless: I did take the posts down.
Why did I do this if I stand behind my telling of these events? Because it feels ssso durdy to tell durdy little sssecretsss... It's a Christian problem. I'm not a Christian by faith, and yet its dogma pervades my cultural identity. EEEK! Maybe some day I'll get past that one.
Everyone who knows the parties in question knows the story, and understands what went down. They don't need a retelling. And as for the momentary joy of a laugh at mine and Army's expense for having created this scenario, it's a shallow win for me because in order to get the great story out, I have to relive it again and again. And I want to focus on the positive now.
So on to bigger and better things. I won't be brought down by a Redwood tree.
I get the shop back from Army, and start digging myself out of a literal and psychic hole I dug for myself 2 years ago. And as the story continues to unfold, there will be unsavory characters involved, including myself at times, and I'll talk about it here, probably in an uncouth way that'll ruffle someone's feathers and strike a chord at their Christian sensibilities. The story is bigger than I am, or any of the characters in it. The story is the oral tradition of how we made our world what it is. And the story will always be too big to be constricted by our comfort zone.
To Be Continued...