…hystoria

Dear Me,

One year ago today, I was lazing on a beach in Maui. Today I'm stuck sideways in the driveway with a vehicle full of chicken tortilla soup.

By full, I mean oozing, surging from one end to the other due to a precipitous traffic stop. It is parked sideways to assure a downhill slant so the schmooze would ooze out sideways. The van is dead because as I cleaned it, I listened to the radio and consequently, it will no longer start.

I am scheduled to be somewhere this morning and be somewhere else again this afternoon. Life doesn't stop just because your vehicle does.

I can best this quandary. I will drive the other vehicle, even though it is blocked in the driveway by the dead one. I’m just pondering the consequences of crashing through the six foot fence and driving across my neighbor’s back yard and through her geraniums. Would that make my day worse?

I could be in Maui, T.

The purpose of my journal writing is to construct a careful wall of rationalization for the inanity[2] of my day and  with that protective barrier in place, I can cautiously peek over the fortification and focus to the future. As flimsy as this façade appears, it shelters my outlook and that makes life more manageable.[3]  Later, when I read what I write and probe the inner depths then I can use that enlightenment to refine my actions—or I could, or should, if I would.

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Dear Me,

I just watched a T.V. special on the manipulation of documentaries (another of the children’s homework assignments). What I learned was that documentaries are still somebody’s opinion of truth, even if they are based on fact. This may still be up to some debate.  After all, I was watching a documentary. T

I know that truth isn’t truth just because I said it happened, wrote it down and then had it made it into a movie. As I noted in the previous book, there is no time when I am writing truth about my extemporaneous[1] life; rather it’s only my perception of truth at that moment. (The children and the husband made me insert that disclaimer early on. Whew! I'm off the hook!)

So that’s where I’m at, writing my own personal truths and using my skewed reality to put a positive spin on my delusions. I have been known to embellish somewhat, but most of what I write has its beginning based on fact, sick as that may seem.

 I’m aiming for writings of a historical nature, with truth directly in my sights. I only tweek the angle slightly, though in literary circles my target might be called hysterical fiction. Whatever it ends up being, That’s My Life.

Reality Bite: History and mystery?

[1] performed with no forethought, note or plan.
[2] Close to insanity, but not quite.
[3] It’s a lot to expect, but my conclusion is, “That’s Life; Get over it.”