Truth or Consequences

You have brains in your head and feet in your shoes.
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own and you know what you know.
And you are the one who’ll decide where to go,
Dr. Seuss

There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
Ernest Hemingway

Hmmm… I wonder if I’m ready to bleed.

People talk so much about finding or knowing their “truth.” I’m still trying to figure out what that means.

For me, everything is so subjective; everything changes from day to day and sometimes from minute to minute. How can there be a “truth”?

Truth, to me, indicates yes or no/black or white or some other absolute. I have made a practice of trying hard to not engage in absolutes.

Feeling this way makes me feel like part of me is lacking, somehow. Because I haven’t discovered my “truth,” there’s some part of fulfillment/discovery/enlightenment that I’m missing out on.

Yes. A lot of times, I don’t even know who in the hell I actually am. Wanna know the freaky thing? Nine out of ten times, I’m perfectly okay with that. That leaves a lot of doors open for me, and it has given me many opportunities and put me in contact with a lot of great people.

Truth, though? I’ll let you know if I ever find some deep, meaningful truth buried with my soul. It would surprise me, though. I love the shades of grey out there.

Hmmm… maybe my truth is that there is no truth.

Why Are You Like This? Barb here, Dissy and I were discussing what we should write about for our very first Witchy Wednesday and settled on answering the main question everyone gets when talking about non-mainstream religious beliefs. Some people are nicer and more polite about how they ask, some are mind-blowingly nasty, but the […]

Witchy Wednesday: Take 1 — So… Your Friend is an Asshole

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Moving On

I’ve been really dragging my feet on the remodel work in the house I’m living in now. I ended up there as the result of a breakup at the end of April. I am hard-pressed to admit that, at 49 years old, this is my very first legitimate case of a broken heart. Sure… others have hurt, others have done their damage, but this one? Wow. Truth be told, I have never before left a relationship while I was still in love, and I was in this instance. Very much so.

I am too obstinate to not recover from this, but I am wondering when that thing is going to kick in? You know, that thing that makes you say “fuck this,” and just … I don’t know… get on with it. I know I’ll feel better and will be much happier when my environment is put in order and is as pretty as I can make it. I know all of the good and positive reasons that I should be doing this, but I am hard pressed to take the steps involved in taking action. Honestly? I’m getting on my own goddamn nerves with it. I’m not even in a place, anymore, where I’m hoping for a reconciliation. That ship has sailed. If there’s happiness out there for me, it’s not going to be with this person.

Part of me is wondering if it’s the paint I picked out for my bedroom. I chose the exact same color scheme, as I had recently painted the bedroom where we lived together, and I absolutely love that color. I’m not tired of it yet, and I want to look at it every night before I go to sleep. Then I think, “it can’t be that.” See… I didn’t associate that bedroom with him or with our relationship. I associate that bedroom with me. It was the one place where I put my true essence. Why can’t I do that again here? I can, but I’m just not doing it. Besides, my new-to-me antique furniture is different enough to wipe out any ghosts.

I think I fear life in general now. I think that I feel too damn old to start over. I think it’s time to face and unpack the baggage so that it can finally be put away. Not just the baggage from this most recent upheaval, but a lifetime of accumulated baggage. Time to breathe. Time to get back to me. Time to fucking paint.