I vaguely mentioned last week a medical crisis back in Kentucky. Then, as now, I didn't want to be too specific, because while I'm an emotional exhibitionist when it comes to columns and writing and making a show of my own personal charade of a life, I actually do hesitate before dragging someone else into the same show. Privacy may be antiquated, but it's not yet an anachronism.
That medical crisis is the reason, though, blogging has been light the past week, even as there has been so much to spout off about. A part of me thinks a better, stronger man would put aside worries about home and family when faced with the task of work. Then another part of me thinks, "Fuck that shit."
Guess which one I've been inclined to listen to.
So, while I'll try to focus myself on some upcoming topics here in the next few days -- I have a feeling we're at one of those crucial junctures in the gay and lesbian movement, where traditional activism meets the future, even though the future actually arrived some time ago -- first I'm going to focus on heading back to Kentucky for a few days to spend some time with my mom and sister. It's not an issue with them that's drawing me back, at least directly -- it's more of an extended family thing, that's very complicated in an adult-child-of-divorce and scattered-former-nuclear-family with assorted re-marriages kind of way. But at the center of it all, literally and figuratively, is something by the name of glioblastoma. It's all as scary as anything with "blastoma" in its name should be. Watching someone you love be strong in the face of that is, frankly, a humbling experience. You can only hope that you can find some of that strength yourself when you need it.