October 18, 2010
From the comments
I do bad things all the time and tell of them.
I do good things a whole lot more and keep them secret.
Helps me realize that what is unseen is more important, and hopefully to remember that in my dealings with other people.
But because everything and everyone is so far from one another, our words count more now, and so I seem to others to be a bad person. By my own recollection. Which I think is funny. Amusing myself in these ways hasn’t quite played out in the ways I thought it would.
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People who have decided other people are so easy to read and boring that they spend all their time constructing elaborated games to play with them are pathetic. And I include myself in that.
There is no easy reading, Amanda Mae. Of your tellings, I’ve seen nothing but good. You might try hard to mask it but your heart tells all. It comes through in your writing. It could be my filter and my love for you. You ring of authenticity. I don’t think I’m full of crap in that assessment.
I don’t think you are either. I don’t think I’m a bad. It’s just been something about myself that I am still deciphering and thinking about.
Would it make you feel better or worse to know, at 55, I am still deciphering and thinking about it, too?
It makes the now less nowish, which is fine.
Wouldn’t an answer now be just what we want?
When did what we want start having something to do with what we ought to have?
Apologies for answering a question with a question.