I keep thinking every night as I sit down to type “my truth” that I really should try doing this earlier in the day before my brain gets addled by the need for sleep. I keep thinking that my less than wakeful state is the cause of my befuddlement about where to start. It may not help, and it might be interesting to see what happens if I sit down before 10 PM, but I also think this whole business of truth telling is just a hell of a lot more confusing than I expected it to be. The idea seemed simple enough. The reality is not so clear.
I have family visiting me. The first three of them arrived today and I did not spend the day or the week cleaning my apartment. Instead I let them see it as it normally is, which is neat enough but definitely lived in. It was new for me to do that. I would usually spend quite a bit of time and energy making my life look better before I invited anyone into it.
It’s amazing to me how much of my life and my way of being in the world is actually pretense. I’m something of a con-artist and I didn’t even know it. I’m sitting here on my couch staring down at a belly that could easily belong to a fifty-year old man drinking six pints a day or woman in her second trimester and I’m thinking, “This is real.” That I just loosened my belt and unbuttoned my jeans is true. And for some odd reason that I can’t begin to explain tonight, it makes me smile.