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God.
I mean, gawd.
It's seven o seven in the a.m. I had some crazy ass dreams again but I'll sound like an idiot if I try to recount them and this is what I like to call get off your ass and write something you lazy son of a bitch hour so I'll spare you, otherwise I'll finagle my way out of really writing something and if my memory serves me correctly, I haven't actually written anything since mid January. Not that I have much to say, these days meld into weeks which blink their eyes for a brief moment, also known as the Weekend, and all the sudden it's not only 2006, but also February of 2006, and lo! and behold how did we get here? I'm sure I've mentioned before ad nauseam that February used to be my least favorite month, but I'm trying to change that. Trying as in trying since 2004 to rework this month in my psyche to be a month of celebrating as opposed to mourning but somehow no matter how much I try, this month still has a general cloud of suckage hanging over it and I'm just trying to get by. So far I've been told two lies this week, that I know of, and in the grand scheme of things I call that progress. If that gives you an idea. Little lies, mind you, but lies nonetheless. I'm trying to think if I told any lies myself but I can't think of anything past saying 'I'm fine' when someone asks how I'm doing and telling the truth would be asking 'how much time do you have?' Why do we lie, anyway? Aside from it being the presumed path of least resistance? Why do we think we are actually 'protecting' when we try and protect somebody from the truth? I don't get it. Maybe it's just easier. I read an interesting article here while pretending to be a Thinker that raises some interesting questions, makes some points. How certain areas of society et al not only embrace the lie but also depend on it, that without the lie there would be chaos. I wonder if my life would be chaos without the lies? Isn't life pretty much chaos anyway? Does it just fuel the fire, make it more interesting? Power or truth, choose one.
I remember emmagoldman talking about her girl, how she's discovered this art of lying, which made me realize it's not this thing we learn how to do from someone, but rather something we figure out we CAN do, and hope we can get away with it. It's like choose-your-own-adventure, where the imagined reality is maybe just how you wish things had happened, if you hadn't been so human. So is telling lies denying ourselves our own humanity? I guess that's the power thing. We are bigger and better when we lie, or at least we make people think we are. I don't know. I find humanity pretty endearing, myself. Someone who isn't afraid to admit they fuck up, someone who will expose that tender side of themselves, let you know that they are weak too at times, that's fucking admirable. That's something you can warm up to. It's hard to warm up to an inflated image of oneself.
I used to lie pretty regularly when I was younger, I guess for that same reason, trying to portray the image of myself that I hoped was true, instead of the one I knew to be my reality. The only big one that is coming to mind is a classic save-your-ass lie, which I soooooooo could have gotten away with if I'd only been bolder and not suffered from my tragic flaw of laziness. In 8th grade I stole my mom's bottle of Jose Cuervo from the liquor cabinet. I took it in my big Benetton bag to the mall with April Fox. We got a couple Orange Juliuses and in the bathroom of JCPenney filled them with the tequila and walked around, trying to get drunk. It was the first time I'd ever drunk any alcohol (in with a bang, I say!) but I can't say that I really felt that drunk. Granted, it might've been because we went to see a movie and I didn't do enough walking around to realize I was stumbling. Anyway, that fucking bottle of which no missing tequila would have been noted, stayed in that Benetton bag for another year and a half, before my mom happened to be going through some shit in my room and found it. She asked me outright if I knew what had happened to her bottle of Jose Cuervo, and I, frozen in my tracks, lied and said I had no idea what had happened to it. And then of course I didn't get into trouble for stealing the bottle so much as I did for lying about it. Ironic how now my mom is now the poster child of not only lying, but also squirreling away liquor in bags and hiding it in her bedroom. Ha. I didn't realize the 360 til just now, in fact.
But I guess it's all just par for the course, just in case we forgot how full of wonder this life can be.
My heart goes out to you who are hurting. You know who you are. I'm thinking about you babe.
xo
I mean, gawd.
It's seven o seven in the a.m. I had some crazy ass dreams again but I'll sound like an idiot if I try to recount them and this is what I like to call get off your ass and write something you lazy son of a bitch hour so I'll spare you, otherwise I'll finagle my way out of really writing something and if my memory serves me correctly, I haven't actually written anything since mid January. Not that I have much to say, these days meld into weeks which blink their eyes for a brief moment, also known as the Weekend, and all the sudden it's not only 2006, but also February of 2006, and lo! and behold how did we get here? I'm sure I've mentioned before ad nauseam that February used to be my least favorite month, but I'm trying to change that. Trying as in trying since 2004 to rework this month in my psyche to be a month of celebrating as opposed to mourning but somehow no matter how much I try, this month still has a general cloud of suckage hanging over it and I'm just trying to get by. So far I've been told two lies this week, that I know of, and in the grand scheme of things I call that progress. If that gives you an idea. Little lies, mind you, but lies nonetheless. I'm trying to think if I told any lies myself but I can't think of anything past saying 'I'm fine' when someone asks how I'm doing and telling the truth would be asking 'how much time do you have?' Why do we lie, anyway? Aside from it being the presumed path of least resistance? Why do we think we are actually 'protecting' when we try and protect somebody from the truth? I don't get it. Maybe it's just easier. I read an interesting article here while pretending to be a Thinker that raises some interesting questions, makes some points. How certain areas of society et al not only embrace the lie but also depend on it, that without the lie there would be chaos. I wonder if my life would be chaos without the lies? Isn't life pretty much chaos anyway? Does it just fuel the fire, make it more interesting? Power or truth, choose one.
I remember emmagoldman talking about her girl, how she's discovered this art of lying, which made me realize it's not this thing we learn how to do from someone, but rather something we figure out we CAN do, and hope we can get away with it. It's like choose-your-own-adventure, where the imagined reality is maybe just how you wish things had happened, if you hadn't been so human. So is telling lies denying ourselves our own humanity? I guess that's the power thing. We are bigger and better when we lie, or at least we make people think we are. I don't know. I find humanity pretty endearing, myself. Someone who isn't afraid to admit they fuck up, someone who will expose that tender side of themselves, let you know that they are weak too at times, that's fucking admirable. That's something you can warm up to. It's hard to warm up to an inflated image of oneself.
I used to lie pretty regularly when I was younger, I guess for that same reason, trying to portray the image of myself that I hoped was true, instead of the one I knew to be my reality. The only big one that is coming to mind is a classic save-your-ass lie, which I soooooooo could have gotten away with if I'd only been bolder and not suffered from my tragic flaw of laziness. In 8th grade I stole my mom's bottle of Jose Cuervo from the liquor cabinet. I took it in my big Benetton bag to the mall with April Fox. We got a couple Orange Juliuses and in the bathroom of JCPenney filled them with the tequila and walked around, trying to get drunk. It was the first time I'd ever drunk any alcohol (in with a bang, I say!) but I can't say that I really felt that drunk. Granted, it might've been because we went to see a movie and I didn't do enough walking around to realize I was stumbling. Anyway, that fucking bottle of which no missing tequila would have been noted, stayed in that Benetton bag for another year and a half, before my mom happened to be going through some shit in my room and found it. She asked me outright if I knew what had happened to her bottle of Jose Cuervo, and I, frozen in my tracks, lied and said I had no idea what had happened to it. And then of course I didn't get into trouble for stealing the bottle so much as I did for lying about it. Ironic how now my mom is now the poster child of not only lying, but also squirreling away liquor in bags and hiding it in her bedroom. Ha. I didn't realize the 360 til just now, in fact.
But I guess it's all just par for the course, just in case we forgot how full of wonder this life can be.
My heart goes out to you who are hurting. You know who you are. I'm thinking about you babe.
xo