it’s the usual dilemma of a public journal – how much of what I write here can be a private expression, and how much is by necessity my “happiest, shiniest self” (damn, I wish I could remember that quote from the sweater – K?). and oddly enough, I’m fascinated by that dilemma, like a knife’s edge that causes both pleasure and pain, because it speaks on a deeper level to a tweak in my psyche.
it’s not easy for me to be honest.
friends may (or may not, I don’t know) mark this as strange, because I usually treasure honesty. but I’ve realized lately that I tend to prevaricate, waffle and spin when I feel that I’ve not done my best. it’s difficult to admit not only outright failure, but even less-than-optimal results. and I find most results of events in my life to be less than optimal, and I’m often embarrassed by my motivations. thus the little white lies.
but no more. if the truth is not as I like it, and I can’t bring myself to say the unvarnished truth, then silence will have to do. (“i’m sorry i flaked out on you,” and no more.)
this thought, perhaps, to be continued later.