Truth, besotted with Lies
September 15, 2011
In writing, being truthful almost always requires a small amount of fiction.
In writing, being truthful almost always requires a small amount of fiction.
My therapist thinks if I can figure out what I want, then I can go and get it, but I’ve already obtained everything I wanted.
Bestie #5 comes from yours truly. That’s probably all I should say.
Teachers are supposed to be saints, but I’ve sinned plenty in the three short years I’ve been a professor.
I wasn’t that eager, not like I should’ve been. Nor was I that excited about St. Louis. We’d chosen somewhere close, only because my husband had to be back at work in two days. Later, they’d fire my husband, but by that point, we were no longer interested in the things you do on a honeymoon.
Garry felt that he’d created me and, to be fair, he did name me. In all likelihood, he just couldn’t pronounce my real name (and that’s not a slant towards his intelligence; my own brother couldn’t pronounce my name for a very long time), but when G-money called me lee lee for the first time, I felt no less important than the several times I’d felt “called by God” as a Southern Baptist teen. I had been reborn.
Despite what the advertising industry and the Facebook friend finder application would have us believe, the imperative mood doesn’t actually accomplish anything other than making the recipient feel as though they want to strangle someone. I don’t have any friends, Goddamnit! Leave me alone.
An unpolished, imperfect, and probably not so pleasing post about my penchant for prevaricating.
We should all be concerned. One by one, our freedoms are being taken from us. Our behavior is being censored, our thoughts silenced. Without {text} there is nothing.