Fuck. I guess I’ll write about work. I’ve been struggling with finding the motivation to keep this blog going. After only four posts of like a thousand words a piece. I’ll stop writing about how hard writing is at some point. As soon as it’s easy. Which should be soon. 

I’ve only written four things and my brain has already decided it’s done all it needs to do with regards to writing. I did it and now it’s over. I guess. I do this with many things. I do this with school every so often. And with weight loss. And with reading. And with other forms of art I’d like to try. And with cooking. And with exercise. It happens in the middle of activities sometimes. Some ancient switch buried deep next to my brainstem flips and I physically feel the motivation to continue leaving my body through a deep sigh. I lose interest and I quit. It’s not very exciting to write about. But I would rather write about how bad I am at doing things than I would about work, the only thing I truly believe I will be doing until the day I die and will be doing well without this unexplained loss of motivation. 

I consider my work to be a sacred thing. I work with people. I work for people. I can’t work for myself or that thing from earlier happens where that fleshy brain-toggle tells me to stop and drop and then not roll but just sort of lay there. Sorry. I don’t want to write about work and it’s because I think it’s sacred. I think people’s experiences are sacred and I don’t want to tarnish them with my self-motivated and subjective accounting, and without their permission, anonymous or not. It’s sensitive work. It requires a deft touch. I work in an industry which seems itself at constant war with language for the sake of this touch. Do we call them clients? Or guests? Participants? Do we call them “them”, even? It’s an industry that gets a lot of flak for its seeming unwillingness to speak plainly. “Homeless” vs. “Unhoused” vs. “Housing Insecure” vs. “At-Risk”. Replacements and synonyms and specifications and clarifications. It’s for good reason. There are plenty of bad actors ready to misappropriate and misinterpret and pass judgement and ultimately, evilly, advocate for flipping the switch. 

It’s a phenomenon that approaches parody. Precise language is important and I think it’s good, but it makes engagement in this topic difficult for those just trying to fucking Get It. This is social work, sociability is in the name, approachability should be built in. But it’s a traumatized industry which guards itself for good reason.

I’m not advocating for imprecise language. I suppose I should make my position clear: the development of language regarding sensitive topics and the welfare of human beings is a good thing. Words mean things and carry with them more than just definitions.. If someone feels excluded because the barrier to entry for meaningful conversation means they have to adjust their language, I think that’s good, actually. I think it’s respectful of someone’s intelligence to say, “Sorry, but in order to genuinely engage in this topic, you should be up to speed on it, here is how we talk about these things and here is why.”. 

This is for the Nick Shirleys of the world. The folks who think they are entitled to the world of aesthetic professionalism without actually doing any of the work. Bad actors. Fucking morons. Grifters. I’m not about to correct someone on their language if they’re about this shit. If they’ve been doing the work or are otherwise operating in good faith. I think it’s okay to have standards which are context sensitive. I’ll talk to anyone who is curious about the homeless, but if, god forbid, I ever find myself locked in a room with Jesse Waters, those folks are unhoused and that’s the language you’re going to use you fascist fucking twerp.

So that’s why it’s hard to write about. Especially in a blog that anyone could read. I don’t know who my audience is gonna be. And I don’t want to just journal about it, because then it won’t get written at all. And wouldn’t that be just a travesty. I often joke about how my “break in case of emergency” plan is to approach FOX News as a disillusioned human services worker, sell my soul and have a book ghost written by AI trained on Charlie Kirk talking points make me a bajillion dollars. It’s not even really a joke. So I guess this acts as permission to put me down if you ever see me on a panel of talking heads. 

I love the work I do and the people I do it for. Maybe I’ll find a way to write about it correctly some day. I have a lot of stories but none of them are mine. All I’ll say for now I guess is that I’m damn good at what I do.