True Grit

Right now, I’m having a party in my bed, regardless of having to get up in 7 hours to anti-party. I’m eating yogurt and pretzels. Sending pics back and forth. Watching “Eerie, Indiana” (lemme get a shoutout, 90s kids). Fucked up on kpins. Backing up my computer. Looking at pictures of cute babies and indecently priced clothing. Oh, and pondering if I should tell any of you any of this.

I’m pondering because I don’t want to have to explain myself. I don’t want to explain my jokes. I don’t want to explain my compulsion and choice to curse so fucking much. I don’t want to explain that I really only took my prescribed dose of medication, but haven’t eaten enough. I don’t want to explain me.

I’m always a straight talker, so explanations shouldn’t be an issue in my life. Why, then, am I consistently feeling like I’m having to reiterate, retrace the things I have said? It makes me feel like what I say is never taken at face value. It makes me feel uneasy. It makes me feel dishonest.

Honesty isn’t the best policy, it’s the only one. It’s the title page, the index, and all the chapters in my rule book. Because of my vast experience with it, I’m cozy with an abundant level of reality. It doesn’t make me squirm in the way I’ve seen others do under rigorous truth. In fact, my mother and sister once told me that I’m honest enough to produce fear. “It’s intimidating, Rachel.”

That always stuck with me and I’ve tried to take note of it since. I’ve tried to take it easy, let some things slide, and stay honest without hitting anyone over the head, especially here on this blog. I do this not because I am uncomfortable sharing my life, but because the people in mine might not be as comfy with the idea of public disclosure.

I can’t ever lie to myself, though, and at the end of the day, holding back is not what I’m about. Holding back is certainly not what writing is about. The best writing comes from truth, and I haven’t been telling the whole-truth-and-nothing-but-the-truth, even though I’ve come damn close a time or fifty.

I haven’t been getting down to the true grit of things because I didn’t want to force an honest hand on someone who took the time to put on a truth condom. Candor free since 2003!

But then I remember that everyone reads this stupid shit that comes out of my head by choice. No one is forcing you here by gunpoint, but for some reason, you keep reading. That means I owe it to myself and to you to make the 10-50% (depending on the day) not-fully-truthful truths……. true.

Today and from now on, I’m making all kinds of written revelations. If you’re not comfortable in that environment, you’ve been warned.

Oh, and there’s this:
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