SunshineThis blog as a chronicling of the exterior; of how we look from the outside looking in. This blog is like visiting our house; it’s like getting a guided tour around our lives.

But it’s not a visit inside my head. It’s not necessarily real life. It’s still only what I choose to show.

It’s like when a new friend comes to visit. You show them the tour, but they don’t get to look in your closets or under your bed. You show them the best parts, and you hope they don’t look in your medicine cabinet when they’re in the bathroom with the door shut.

I’ve censored myself. I show what I choose to show. And I choose what to leave out.

It’s like you’re over for a visit, but there are mountains of papers and dust-bunnies and cardboard boxes shoved under the bed and in the closet. I’m starting to worry that, should you take a wrong turn and open the closet door by mistake, you’ll be buried by a cascade of catalogues and wrapping paper and empty egg cartons. The jig will be up.

Last night, while chopping cucumber in our kitchen-that-isn’t-really-a-kitchen, I spazzed at Cam for being the cause of my censorship.

His eyes got smaller and a little more almond-shaped. “You’re totally wrong.” He said. “It’s not me. When have I ever censored you lately?” He asked.

I glared at him.

He continued, “You can write whatever you want.”

I glared at him some more. Slowly, I relaxed my gaze. “Really?” I asked. “Well why have I been so closed lately?”

He shrugged and went back to arranging chopped radishes.

And then I proceeded to unleash a tirade of pent up angst about this blog… People know us. This blog is not anonymous. We’re running businesses. I can’t just open my medicine cabinet and yell, “Here it is, everybody. Have a look!”

I’m not that brave.

I clenched my jaw and walked out of the kitchen, my cucumber–half-cut–still lying on the cutting board.