ch...ch...ch....choices

My favorite holiday is just one week away. I love Thanksgiving because it's the only holiday when we celebrate those things that sustain us: family, friends, food. It's not about religion or patriotism, costumes or love. It's purely about the bounty of the season. I refuse to see it as a shopping holiday. That's blasphemy.

In the week leading up to Thanksgiving I would like to focus only on laying in and preparing food, making sure everybody who can fit in my dining room knows a place is laid for them at the table, and making a home for my new puppy, Doc.

Life is never that fucking simple.

I will do all of those things, but in the midst of it all, I have a decision to make that's nagging at me like sand in my underwear. A really hard decision. One that will affect me, and one that will affect other people. I have a choice to make, and none of my options are good ones.

I fucking hate that.

I can't write about the situation that brings me to this decision, this choice, although if I did, the decision might be made for me. And that might be a relief, but to do so wouldn't be ethical. But if I choose one direction, I will end up writing about it, and I will post it here. If I choose the opposite, I'll just have to swallow it.

I have a choice to make.

One thing that makes this decision hard is that one choice could be a sacrifice and I'm the lamb. I've had to do that before: in my church, in my homeschool group, teaching at the university (that cost me my job), and in intimate relationships. So many stories. So many swords I've fallen on because I thought I had to do what I thought was right. And here I am again.

Whistle-blowers in the movies become heroes, but in real life, they often find out they're blowing a dog whistle. And the only people who hear the whistle are the top dogs, who are more likely to beat you with a newspaper than to toss you a bone for being all honest and upright and ethical and shit. Other people will simply be annoyed by the subliminal noise and do whatever they can to make it go away. And then life goes on as before, except for the whistle-blower, who finds herself whining outside the pack.

Enough of that metaphor though. It's not the first time I've brought a knife to a gunfight. In fact, that's kind of my MO. How's that working for me, you ask? I've lost friends, I answer, but I know I did the right thing. Was it worth it? you ask. I'm not sure, I say. Some days I'd rather be the person who lets other people take the fall. I'd like to wear the Miss Popularity sash for a minute.

It's also not the first time I've wished I had a mentor, someone whose advice I valued over even my own. And yet, I've never had a mentor in all my many years of life. Lots and lots of wise friends, but never a mentor. It's just not me, I guess, but I wonder what that would be like. I've simply never met anybody I want to put on that pedestal. Not that I don't value the advice of my friends and family, and most of all my kids, but I've never had a mentor, someone to lead me through life.

Maybe what I really miss is having a best friend. How pathetically junior high is that? Or maybe I just need a therapist. Recommendations? Or maybe I need a sponsor. Is there a 12-step program for people who are addicted to fixing what can't be fixed?

Back to the difficult choice .... I seem to find myself in positions like this more often than other people do. And my friends will agree. People expect it now; they wait for me to step in and be the bad guy. And even if they don't know me like that, I must put off the lemon-ammonia scent of someone who will take the bullet for everybody else if they just wait long enough.

Fuck me for being born a red-head, because that's got to be it. That's got to be why I'm fated to walk through these fires. The hardest thing about being a fire-breathing perfectionist is that  nothing is ever perfect, and it's hard to tell what's good enough and what I should walk away from. Either way, I'm going to disappoint somebody -- myself or a lot of other people. Or more likely, everybody.

I've vague-blogged long enough. How do you make hard decisions? Who do you go to for advice? Do you have a mentor? Will you be my mentor? What's your default when you have 3 choices and none of them are good? Why isn't life ever fair?

I wish I could filet this issue and lay it out here on a soggy newspaper for you to examine, but obviously I can't. Depending on which way I swing, I either will blow the whole thing up and write about it here one day soon, inviting more haters to circle .... or I'll slink off and never say another word about it ... unless I write an anonymous letter and post it on a dim, smoky back room bulletin board where nobody will ever read it or even fucking care.

Would Anonymous please stand up?

I've been wresting with decisions about anonymity, both my own and yours. On the one hand, anonymity provides a certain amount of protection, gives a little more freedom  to write whatever the fuck I want. On the other, it's  kind of chickenshit to write without claiming the words, putting one's name on the byline. It dilutes the power of the words somehow when a name isn't attached.

One decision I make every once in a while is whether to allow Anonymous to comment here. With a click I can take that option off the comment page and force anyone who comments to own up with at least an alias. One advantage would be that each comment would have a different name. A couple of times posts have received an unusual number of comments -- like 10 -- and it's hard to tell if the anonymous ones are one person or several. And I suppose having to "sign" a comment might inspire some otherwise anonymous commenters to consider their words and punctuation more carefully, but it might also discourage them from commenting.

Eh, but I don't get that many comments here on the blog. I tend to get more on Facebook, where they can't be anonymous anyway, and most of those are on my personal page, not the blog page (which you should like if you haven't by clicking over there to the right). Drive-by anonymous posts aren't really a problem, and I have the option of deleting any that annoy or offend me. So far, none of them have, not even the fat troll who stopped by and left a calling card to her secret blog one night.

For now, I'm going to allow anonymous comments here. It's so much easier to mock someone who disagrees with me if I can't put a name with the comment.

I'll go that way.

The other question is one of my own anonymity. I'm working on a new design, and I'd like to make this interface more visually personal. I've been thinking about having some photos of myself taken -- even though I'm the most unphotogenic human living or dead. Professional photographers hate me. The only person who consistently takes a photo of me with my eyes open is The Diplomat, and he's had lots of practice. In fact, it's so embarrassing how unphotogenic I am, I'm a little phobic now, which is why I haven't pursued it yet. But I have a couple of other purposes for the photos: one is that some directors want head shots at auditions and the other is none of your business. So I thought if I were going break down and have some photos taken, I might as well try to get one that I could use here.

My quandary is that I've maintained a certain level of anonymity and posting a photo would blow some of that away. Yes, many readers know my real identity, and some even party at the bat cave. I've been posting links to my Facebook page for months, so it's no secret to my Facebook friends who Reticula is. Even my kids read and comment here.

Facebook friends aren't the readers I worry about though. Because I write about things like vaginas and dildos and even --giddyup! -- Sybians, I'd rather any particular current crop of students not find and read my blog. I sometimes read something I've written here aloud as an example, because they like to know I can write better than they can, but I don't direct my students to my blog. I also don't accept Facebook friend requests from students while they're enrolled in my class, and only a special few have become friends after. I'm flattered when one of those reads here, but they are rare students.

So students are one reason I'm careful about linking my realness to my blog. The other reason is less compelling. A friend brought up the possibility that a future, potential employer might find my blog and be offended by my posts about vaginas or by my language. I said I hoped any potential employer would be hiring me because I'm a writer, and my blog shows one genre of writing I can do. I'm not sure I'd like working for anyone who couldn't handle what I write here. That would be a pretty tight stick up the ass, and I predict we would clash in other ways too.

I've met this quandary before. A few years ago I sold a story to Bust magazine, a "one-handed read" story. After I signed the contract, the editor must have done some research on me, because she emailed and asked if I was sure I wanted to use my real name for the byline. At the time I was working for another magazine as an editor and columnist, and it was possible some of those readers might not appreciate my porn erotica.I thought about it for a few hours, and then I emailed her back and told her to use my real name. I wasn't ashamed of the story and I saw no reason to use a pseudonym as if I were.

So my past stance has been that anything I write in public I should be proud to own. I edit myself heavily so I don't cross certain self-imposed lines. For example, I try never to embarrass my kids or write anything that would hurt someone I love and respect. I'm not perfect, but that's my intention, but I've learned that I can neither predict nor control my audience. Sometimes people I never would have imagined read here, so I have to consider that unknown audience when I write. Being entirely anonymous would be freeing, like never having to wear a bra or panties, but all writers are accountable to their audience.

Granted, a photo isn't the same as using my name. But it's one step closer to outing myself publicly in a way that's irreversible. And I've learned the hard way a couple of times that the internet can be a cold companion when it comes to taking something I've written back. Some people don't forgive.

As I write it out here though, it doesn't seem like a big deal. This isn't my secret sex blog, after all. Maybe I'm just trying to avoid those photos ..... I know I'm trying to avoid the photos.

Do any of you have any thoughts on the subject of anonymity? If you're a blogger, do you use your real name? Am I just making life too damn difficult again?

My mother always said I think too much.