I am going to keep this short for the few people who read my blog. Emphasis on few. Which is more than okay because you few people happen to be fatefully exceptional people.
Truth: This week has been hard for me. I mean HARD. I even got two cold sores so you know my stress level is maxed out. I have cried daily. I know, no one believes me anymore when I say I never cry, but at one point I had ice running through my veins. Ask my sisters. So actually, I can no longer claim to be a never-crying person because I do cry now. All the damn time.
Truth is a hard concept to define. There are a bazillion quotes about it, it is a cornerstone of most major religions or belief systems, and it has long been philosophized and studied. My interpretation and belief in it is so important that I have the word "Truth" tattooed on my wrist. No, not to remind me to tell the truth (I am kinda too honest already) but to remind me to find the truth in all things, live my truth, and accept the truth. Accepting the truth is probably the hardest one.
Some truths are hard for me to accept because I am an idealist by nature. I am a dreamer, I am impulsive, I don't think people should have to work 40 hours a week, I believe in love at first sight, sometimes I don't pay my bills, I don't follow rules, I live in the moment, I have faith that things will work out, and I WILL live in a grass hut one day and drink out of coconut shells. Anyway, this radical thinking makes things like death, car repossessions, lawsuits, annoying people, world disorder, violence, etc. very hard for me. (After I saw The Kite Runner, I forbade my sister from ever watching it and then fell into a 6-month depression. I am not exaggerating.)
I've gone on too long already. My point... I have to start balancing my idealism with reality. So that when reality does get a little rocky, my life doesn't shatter into a million pieces. How do I do that? I have no idea. It terrifies me.
One way, I guess, is having an irresistible friend who has "Truth Time" with me. And tonight he gave me a little bit of truth, made me cry, offered some advice in a totally non-lecturing way, and then agreed that most of the stuff I had talked about was boring. Which was the truth... it was a very uninteresting monologue at times. But I think he knew that I had to barf it up. And I think he knew that I was the saddest, loneliest girl in the world tonight. I wish I knew how to tell him how much it meant to me.
I will be the first to admit that I am not perfect. I am usually at fault when it comes to problems in my life (except for my sweet Sunny getting hit by a car). I am irresponsible. I trade what I ultimately want for what I want in the moment. Sometimes I don't always tell the entire truth. I show up hungover at work. I don't pay my bills. Ever. I stay up late and then wonder why I can't wake up in the morning. I push people away. I am mean to people when they don't deserve it. I fall in love with people who will never love me back. I can be resentful. I am selfish. I have so many good things in my life that I am a dick for complaining at all.
I've totally lost control of this entry. Maybe I have just discovered that the very word that is tattooed on me is the one that I am most oft trying to avoid.