Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

I dislike when anyone tells me what to write about or what not to write about on my blog.

“Sue,” they say with concern. “Your posts are a little intense/personal/uncomfortable-to-read.”

They tell me they miss my political content and toss out potential topics to inspire me, much like people toss snacks at zoo animals to spur a performance.

Then they move on to the next exhibit.

I’m not absurd enough to pretend this blog isn’t partially performative, but it’s not compulsory reading. I blog when the spirit moves me, I blog when I need the magical experience of crafting a post. And sometimes I blog when it is necessary.

But if you’ve been reading along lately, you pick up that I’ve got some struggles. Blogging ain’t one of them. It’s my fifteenth year. What I haven’t figured out is probably just going to fry my brain.

This is something I figured out a long time ago – every single word on this blog is something gay. Because guess what? I’m gay. Fuck yeah, it defines me. Gay people move through the world always conscious of being gay people. We have to in order to survive. It’s second nature with the added bonus of drive-by slurs and strange constraints on where to shop for cakes.

This blog is gay/queer/lesbian/LGBTQ/homo enough. Thank you very much.

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