The Big One

What's the biggest lie of all?  It's the enormous lie, made up of dozens of tiny lies, that help me justify the distance between the 'me I wanna be' and the 'me I actually am'.  Now I know that almost everyone has an idealized version of themselves rattling around in their head, somewhere.  And that's all fine and well.  But when you live each day pretending that Ideal You is actually Real You...and when, in reality, Ideal You and Real You have about as much resemblance to each other as the Eiffel Tower and a box of rocks...well, then...there's a problem...

And there's also a solution...or three...

You can go ahead and keep pretending and, if you can pull it off, that's great.  But unless you surround yourself with a gaggle of blind ass-kissers, eventually those around you are just not gonna be able to help but point out, in some form or fashion, that your grip on your 'personal' reality' is both slippery and disturbing.  People just can't trust your opinions or take you seriously when you live in total denial.  I mean, if you keep insisting that this is gonna be your best 'Year of the Bikini' yet, despite the fact that your ass is bigger than a house, well, how can you be trusted to make astute observations about THEIR lives.  At best, you'll become that person whose opinions are most valued by your friends because they know that, if they do the exact opposite of everything you suggest, well then things will be just fine.  At least they've managed to turn your anti-perception into some sort of tool.  Unfortunately for you, you just get to BE the tool.

Another solution is changing your Ideal Self into something that more closely resembles a box of rocks...I mean your Real Self.  As Quintin Crisp once said, "Don't try and keep up with the Jones.  Bring them down to your level.  It's cheaper."  This is the best solution for those people who have just flat given up.  It can be a pretty short trip from "I'm getting older.  My tits are sagging" to "Fuck it.  Hand me that Southern Comfort and a box of Crispy Creams."  So for those of you who find this to be the best alternative....have at it.  Put those fat little feet up, tape old newspaper on all of the windows in your house and get resigned to having to eventually wash yourself with a rag on a stick.  You think it won't happen, but it will...I don't even remember the last time I was able to 'trim up' without my vajayjay looking like it has lost a fight with a one-eyed buzz saw.

And finally, there's the 'Pimp My Box o' Rocks' solution...turning that fierce mess of unrecognizable Real Self into something that looks more like the Eiffel Tower...or the Venus de Milo...or a much shinier box of rocks that's at least got a bit of spackling to hold it all together...you know, just do your best.

So I'm opting for Box Number Three.  At least until I get so exhausted and over it I give up and switch it out for a rag on a stick.

I'm taking my Big Lie and breaking it down into the three smaller lies of smoking, fat, and sitting on my ass.  And, of those three lies, I'm starting with fat.  I joined Weight Watchers Online about 7 weeks ago.  So far I've lost 13 pounds.  I don't know how it's gonna turn out this week though.  Yesterday I managed to top off my 'normal' meals with a pint of Key Lime Pie Ice Cream, washed down with a bottle of red wine.  When I entered that into my Weight Watchers Points Tracker, online, flames burst out of my computer and my scale put all of it's possessions into a bandanna, tied it to a stick and ran, screaming towards the railroad tracks...

Fuck that scale.  I didn't like it anyway.

Truth Is A Sticky Wicket

So that first post?  Bullshit.  Total Bullshit.  After some introspection, I realized...who gives a fuck about secrets from the past?  Cause the truth is that I could take every shameful thing I've ever done, every lie I've ever told, every moment I've manipulated a situation to get my way, everything I've ever stolen or destroyed...I could take ALL of that and add it up and, in the end those things wouldn't amount to dick compared to the lies I tell myself right here and now.  My past means almost nothing compared to my present, and what little meaning the past does contain...it's only there as it relates to the bullshit I'm telling myself now...and now...and now...

And holy shit snacks...there's a lot of bullshit...

You know, I get the whole 'reality is what you make it' gig...cause I've been pretzeling my version of reality for almost as long as I can remember...but here's the thing...when a person lies to themselves, so convincingly, day after day, about who, and where, they really are...well, eventually the truth WILL catch up...you can't out run what's really going on forever...

And here's the 'real' truth...

Yesterday I was reading a study about what affects a person's Quality-Adjusted Life Years. "The construct QALY's  combines mortality and overall health status and can be used to quantify the impact of risk factors on population health."  and they are determined by figuring out how certain risk factors will affect a person's quality of life - things like smoking, drinking, obesity, and a sedentary lifestyle.  So I did the math and was horrified to find that, because of my current lifestyle I can expect for 24 years of my life to suffer.  I can expect to live at least 10 years less, if not more.  I'm 46.  This is bad.  Very bad.

Currently the average age of death for women in the US is 81 years.  However, for me, at the present time, it's around 71, with the last 24 years of that steadily decreasing in quality...so, hummm...that means that, according to that study,  my quality of life will start decreasing IN 4 MONTHS!!!

And here's another thing...that study is wrong...cause my quality of life has been diminishing, now, for about 6 years...I smoke, I sit in a chair all...day...long...AND I'm 187 lbs. overweight.

And that, my friends, is the fucking truth.

Secretyville

So, I'm just curious...what will happen if I make a concerted effort to say all of my secrets out loud?  I like to pretend that I don't have a lot of secrets.  And that's the trick to keeping the ones that I do have off of other people's radar...I'm so good at it, I'm not even sure if I know what my secrets are, any more...

But I'm bored.  And I'm curious.  And I just have this overwhelming need, here lately, to dig around in all the muck and see what comes out...I've kinda carried around this generalized sense of shame with me for as long as I can remember...I'd really like to know why that is...I know people often keep secret the things that shame them most...

I'm not even sure if I have any secrets that I haven't told at least one person...I guess we'll see...