Don't expect an overly deep, thought provoking read, I'm just getting back into the swing of it. I rather miss putting my words to a literary format, so here I am. Follow if you'd like, or don't. No skin off my ass.
Last night I confessed to someone a particular lie that I'd been allowing to go for some time. Not just a single lie either, but a series of lies. It would have felt better had the confession not been prompted by a little liquid courage, but it still felt good to get off my chest. This particular lie had been building and building. To the people who are not privileged to the truth, I feel as if I'm surrounding them in a fire as I feed one lie after another to protect them from the truth.
Who am I really protecting, however? Them...or me? I think the fire that I've been feeding with the vast number of lies are eventually going to blaze out of control and burn me, badly. When the truth comes out to the people I'd most like to know, I can't imagine it will be well received. Never have I been a fan of playing my close friends and family for fools, and when they learn, it'll be a blow to the trust that exists between us.
Sucks doesn't it? Getting caught up in lies? Knowing at some point you have to 'fess up is not a pleasant thing. Truth be told, I can think of a thousand more pleasant things than coming clean: having my nipples pierced again; having a tooth drilled without novocaine; hell, I might even be willing to experiment with fiberglass anal beads in exchange for not having to own up to shit. Okay, maybe not...
Brings to mind further thoughts, such as when is lying an okay thing? Can it be justifiable? And I'm not talking about telling a girl--- that she looks great when in fact she looks less pretty than a one-toothed, syphilitic hooker's asshole.
Now that I'm considering how unpleasant the previously mentioned asshole must really look, I'm gonna move on to better and brighter things. Maybe not brighter, but different things. I might even draw this to a close. My main focus was getting the fingers moving and let the synapses start firing again. The majority of my current classes allow for very little variation in the way of creative thinking. Oddly enough, the most creativity inducing class I'm enrolled is an intro to probability and statistics class in which I'm fantasizing about all sorts of torture I'd rather endure.
Well, for those of you, my beloved Andy-villians, that have lasted through my tedious prattle, I thank you. It's time for some serious sleep. Expect the next post to be a bit more descriptive and enlightening, or perhaps not. Who knows?
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