inflammatory?

blogging intimidates me. I write on a daily basis, and yet I want to censor things before I post them. which begs the question: What is blogging exactly? An online journal? Sure. But with some boundaries? Because in my journal, it all hangs out. And that, honestly, seems a bit much.

Bottom line, perfection is the enemy, perfection is the enemy- certainly at this stage. So, a friend of mine challenged me to a half hour per day, for seven days fix. (seven working days...) Meaning set the timer, write. The timer dings, stop writing, then post. that scares the shit out of me. which means I should probably do it. Until then, here is a quote we edited out of Flux: Life After Foster Care, the imperfect yet groovy new book, just published by FCAA. This would have been in the bio family chapter. It's one of a few juicy bits (written by and about me) that were a little inflammatory for the final version.

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I ended up in foster care, in part, because my father is a small-time Christian cult leader. Sounds crazy to say, but it's true. Cult leader types don't make the best dads, they're far too busy preaching, healing and having sex (aka: tending to the flock). At some point my dad decided that I was evil, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't quite beat it out of me (the evil). Foster care happened. Nine years and more than 20 placements weren't great, but it could've been worse. I called him every few years, to see if his phone number had changed. To listen to his voice. When I turned 18, he still thought I was evil, harming everything I touched; nine years and nothing much had changed.