I want to know where I’ve been.

     Yes, yes, I’ve married a fine man,[1] raised three boys, taught English, campaigned for Obama, worked hard in a rigorous graduate program for a degree I’ll likely not benefit from financially, and currently endure challenging students in my role as substitute teacher in urban schools, a position I’ve actually chosen and enjoy. So, yes, I’ve been there, in those places. Meh.

      What I really want to know is where the hell I’ve been on Open Salon.

      On so many nights, avoiding bedtime in order to prevent the sun from rising to start the next day,[2] I’ve cruised around laying comments the way masons lay bricks. And it’s always, always, more than five bricks. The problem, as many of you know, is that the good creators of Open Salon show us only those last five bricks we’ve laid.[3]

      I remember very specifically putting “hold” comments on some posts that looked philosophically fabulous, the best kind of fabulous there is, in my book. Based on the titles and a quick glance at the content, they seemed to require deep and disciplined thinking, which my cerebral cortex was selfishly withholding at that moment of contact. What to do? Clever Lainey had just the solution: “I’m rating this post now and making this comment so I remember to come back here tomorrow. This comment will show up on the left side of my blog, and that will trigger my return.” It felt kind of like a layaway policy.[4]

      Well, then I’d run into several “easy” posts like Cathy’s adorable grandchildren or bbd’s photography or epriddy’s poetry, and I couldn’t help myself but lay some complimentary bricks. So my "hold" comments never saw the light of day. Next morning a whole new slate of stuff appeared in front of me, and, poof, I no longer knew the whereabouts of those brilliant philosophical posts I genuinely wanted to read.

 Who are you? Is there anyone out there who remembers my doing that? Please show your faces. I want to read your posts.

      Then there are the arguments I got into but never really got out of, if you know what I mean. If I disagree with someone, I’m honest and respectful enough to say so, but then I always come back to be sure my comment is taken in the intellectual spirit in which it’s offered, not to mention to continue the dialog if the author has something to say in response to my disagreement. These are some of the best exchanges on OS, and although some people prefer not to engage in conflict, I enjoy nuanced argument about the merits of a topic—say economics or the death penalty or war. But when these threads disappear into the ether, incomplete, I often wonder if I’ve been making enemies here as easily as friends. For all I know there are OSers bitter and resentful of my treatment of them.

 Who are you? Does this sound familiar? Have you downloaded a copy of my cold, stone likeness for your dart board’s bulls’ eye? Please, raise your hands. Let me explain…

      Finally, there were the newbies, not necessarily to OS but to me.[5] [6] Talent I discovered for the first time and was blown away by. I laid fancy bricks and swore undying allegiance, promised to be back regularly, even friended most of you. But alas, OS friendships were temporal back then, evaporating without our knowledge or permission.[7] Some of you made me cry or gave me the chills or had me nodding my head in self-righteous, angry agreement or manipulated language so skillfully that I wanted nothing more than to inhabit your brain, to be you.

Who are you? I want to read your work again. I crave the stories or the ideas or the craft that impressed me so thoroughly that first time. Please, let me know if I came to you at night in a burst of adoration, never to be heard from again….

      Does anyone have unfinished business with Lainey? My bad. [8] Help me make it right.