I wonder.

Why is reality so hard to accept. Surely that's not a hard question?
Yet, it seems to me, that it is precisely what I've been
so steadfastly avoiding.
There is another word for reality.
The truth.
I always prided myself on being truthful.
Remarkable really because, in hindsight, I have to admit
that I am quite untruthful.
I use the truth.
I freely confess whatever I need to confess in order to buy
attention, affirmation or respect.
If the truth refuses to submit to this addiction,
I then cover the truth with spin, exageration or just plain denial.
Ok, what I really should say is:
I lie.
Habitually.
Constantly.
Ah, now that's off my chest, i feel quaintly relieved.
Reality must force us to live in the real world. Living in the real world
gives us the opprotunity to be whole, whether we like it or not,
wholly ourselves.
Warts and all.
This morning I wrote two long emails to a friend on the other side of
the continent. The themes of these emails?
Reality.
I think that I must take my own medicine and start be honest,
truthful,
real, responsible.
I must learn to live in my real world, own up to my real life, speak my real mind,
and be the real me....
which is rather funny,
don't you think?
Here am I at the ripe old age of fifty
blogging under an alias.
"Billy"
I am not "Billy".
But..
I'd like to be!