by Thomas Eugene Krawford Jr.
Plan? What plan?
Well, maybe a general one; very vague and hard to understand, even after a lifetime of trying to figure out just what is a plan anyway; a plan to do what?
At this moment, it is to make a connection that may not be all that simple I figure; but the most important thing to me, as I have always felt, was to make a family connection. Maybe it was only a family I was born and raised with, or maybe it was a family much larger than I could have ever imagined.
Although, it may be difficult to pin down to one thing or the other, I am comfortable in the belief that one’s path is the only way that one can truly go; while, if ever at their last moment of life they can make proud boast; at that last breath; that they have no regrets; and go out with a smile.
That is, it; that is the plan; in a nutshell?
Well, not quite!
When I moved to where I currently live, I cannot say for sure if I was thinking about Erick Erickson’s theories or not. All I can say right here and now at six o’clock, January 23, 2022, is that when you are talking about Men’s Rooms in a public facility like a university dormitory, there is no such thing as mopping only when necessary. Men’s rooms always need to be mopping; and toilets regardless of whether male or female, need to be cleaned; every day! No exceptions.
I mean, seriously; think about it for a moment.
At any rate, getting back to when I moved into where I currently live here in Ann Arbor Michigan some years ago; I did not have any conscious idea of Vygotsky, or Erickson; or Howard Gardner for that matter, or any of their or anyone else’s ideas. All I thought at the time was that I had something in me that somebody would need and want somewhere down the line.
Fast forward to today, January 24, when I thought a guy, I trained at work; a guy I didn’t know all that well to begin with but believed was at least a casual friend; left me and another guy hanging; by not coming in for their scheduled shift; not just two days in a row, but in fact for two or more consecutive weeks; thinking back on my decision to live here in a town where I cannot afford to live in, and am too broke to move from; I can honestly say that maybe I was wrong.
Perhaps, I have nothing of value to offer any Performance Studies program anywhere, at least not in terms of subject-object interposition or counter hierarchical text and integration. I mean, I yelled at one of my coworkers today; someone who had nothing to do with the guy who did not come in. When he held the door for me, I hissed at him: “Get out of my sight!”
So, for me, there is no plan; never has been, at least not a conscious one that I can articulate here and now. All I can do is apologize tomorrow, to the coworker I hissed at today; and continue dealing with the residents in Hayden-Strauss who make messes like it was a religion; some kind of oath to the chaos that I just barely understand.
What does any of this have to do with Coming Out of the Closet? Well, we will get to that in the upcoming sections.
For now, I just want to be locutionary enough to be performative; generally speaking, that is.
Thanks, and see you next time.