Those of you who have been reading my words since the inception of Incongruous Circumspection, those of you who encouraged me to begin writing my thoughts on the virtual page, those of you who have, over the years, shared with me your stories of abuse, allowing me to expose those who hurt you so deeply, those of you who have worked your ass off, trying to get me to realize the error of my atheist ways, yes….even you, welcome. New readers, hello!
As has been my tradition, I will continue to expose my dear Mama and her lovely narcissistic letters to me and my family. I will still be accepting stories of abuse, whether it be sexual, spiritual, mental, physical, abuses of power, or any other sort of abuse that ends up hurting my readers, and needs to be exposed.
I will be writing personal letters to commenters who try to win me back to the bosom of Christ. I’ve checked. His bosom is rock hard and full of dust-caked sweat. It’s really not that great. Also, his blood tastes like blood, not wine. And, news flash, the last time I tried to get a carpet stain out of my pearly white Berber, it didn’t leave the rug as white as snow. Sorry.
I’ll be doing what I do best, as well – writing puff pieces about the chaos of my own home. Every time my kids yell at me and tell me I’m an idiot, you will know. Of course, I’ll spice it up to make me look like the good guy and they, gooder. My bride, as ambitious, beautiful, brilliant, and successful as she is, will grace these pages as often as she allows. I love that woman and you will see it.
I hate those who hurt others. They will not be spared my ire. I love those who care for others. They will be praised here.
And I like craft beer (for sipping) and good coffee. I add cream to bad coffee. That is, all bad coffee, except my father-in-law’s. He makes the most vile coffee this side of the Mississippi, and yet I made the social faux pas of declaring it “the best damn coffee, this side of the Mississippi,” when I was but a stupid newlywed. I’ve been paying for that compliment ever since, having not the heart or the ovaries to tell him the truth. Then again, after 15-years, maybe I kinda like it in a self-flagellation sort of way.
In short, welcome.