So.....

Many people say they want honesty, but I think they just really want to listen to themselves speak. Worse, they want to hear their own opinions, thoughts, and ideas sputtered right back out of them from the vocal box of another person.

 

Friends of mine will be speaking today in hopes of finding “just the truth.” Truth is, someone’s gonna get hurt today. She’s going to cry because he didn’t live up to false expectations she created for him before he even began showing interest. He’s going to be hurt because he’s responsible for hurting another person, and “truthfully” this boy was and is merely trying to figure out what he wants.

 

Me, I’m trying to be honest with myself.

 

I got a bed today. That seems like such permanence. My own bed; Implying temporary accommodations are no longer suitable.

 

Do I want to stay long enough to have a bed? A dresser has been added and I had my first apartment showing this morning. 300 dollars fully furnished. Seems like a little apartment waiting for someone to start their life in. But that implies starting a life here.

 

I don’t want to start a life here. Temporary. This move is temporary! This has become my private little mantra. Everyone around me is trying to make this move so easy. But my life, my real life is still in boxes. Still waiting. Still waiting are the boxes that need to be sorted through. The boxes that are too tiring to go through now.  The photos that never have me in them, the old text books of classes I still haven’t completed, and the box of supplies from an office I no longer work at.  And of course there is the bed. The bed I bought. The bed that once I left the dorms, stated I was on my own. The bed that showed, even though I was engaged, I have my own bed, and I choose whom to invite into it.  Now this bed is in storage, and it seems to be stating there is no permanence in the place I left.

 

Despite impermanence,--despite the storage unit, despite my knowing I have no “real” reason to return to the location I left so willingly—I want to go back. So much in fact, when speaking of returning my mother laughed and said “Yeah, only every time the wind blows.” But is it that frequent?  And it’s not for any bad reason, reasons I feel could be more real than anything I’ve ever known; friends, fun, and simply to take a chance.

 

But within 48 hours I have more here. A house, family support, and now--even a bed.

 

Here in lies the question of honesty. Where am I happier? Do I want either?

 

Both places have shown their loyalty. My family will welcome me with open arms should I fall, and have proven they can pick me up and brush me off quite quickly when I’ve skinned my knee in life’s obstacles.

 

My friends call from a distance and have me in their hearts and thoughts and will be waiting where and when ever our paths may cross.

 

Even my fun and yearning for taking chances has a patience all it’s own. Leave it to me to want it all.  It makes me feel selfish. I guess to be entirely happy people have to be selfish for just a moment. To take without guilt. Or, maybe that’s not selfishness, but acceptance? To know your worth allowing people to make you happy.

 

I might accept that. I wonder if that’s honesty or rationalization?