quittintime

I found myself aimlessly looking at the "blogs I follow" for the blogs I follow.   Somehow, I stumbled into...





again.  This is the third time I have read her writing and every time I am shot through the heart.  Today being no exception, and I wanted to run screaming through the house in practical disbelief that someone out there said what I had been thinking.  And so well.  She is right.  We ALL do it.

I try to be "bare naked" honest here, because I can.  I really know I am not.  I remember a season of my life when I tried to live that way all the time, but it seems that maybe...the more opportunities I have to be unloveable, unloving and unloved-- the less I want it to be known. As a kid, I never understood how my mom and grandmother talked about people like they hated them and then seemed to love to party with them when everyone got together.  I even asked.  Bad move.  Suffice to say we love them and little children just need to mind their own business.  Faking 101.

You remember that episode of Fresh Prince where there is an earthquake and Will's date takes off all her artificial beauty thingies?  Well, I feel like her(I don't even really look like this) and I hardly know how to begin.  The wig?  The nails?

Scared, yet?

I'm not.  I am so excited to know that there is someone else out there that is quitting faking also.  Ha.  It means that the loneliness of being a lame excuse for a (insert the role description of your choice here), is gone.  And the loneliness of being publicly unacceptable and politically incorrect will set in.

I guess I am scared.  I am avoiding the issue.

I live in a messy house.  No. I mean. Disgusting. If cleanliness is next to Godliness, I am going straight to hell. I fake it by driving everyone crazy before I have people over, and cleaning the part that will be in front of the camera when we take a picture.  Fortunately we live in the South and people are obligated to pretend they can's see the filth.  They fake for me so I really don't have to.

I am homeschooling because I believe it is right.  Not because I like it.  I used to like it.  Now I only believe in it. I fake it by talking like things are going well when they are just going.

Being married is hard. Some days you gotta say, "I choose us,"(like Tea Leoni in the Family Man). I won't trade away eighteen and a half years for just an order of onion rings. But sometimes it is really not all that fun.

Being a mom is hard.  I yell at them.  They yell back.  I want to be like other families look.  Even if they are fake.  We are a HOT MESS (my friend has a PhD in Psych and she calls me this so, I think it is an actual scientific term).

I am tired of my "look".  I know how to dress and wouldn't mind the vintage goodwill style as long as I could let someone know I could do better if I could afford it.  Shallow?  Oh, yeah!!!

I want to be good in my heart. I'm not.  I am selfish.  I am tired.  I am lazy.  I am angry.  I am angry because I am lazy and no one will do my work and I am tired of acting like I am not selfish.  It is a lot of hard cotton picking work and I am lazy.  DIDN'T I JUSY SAY THAT!!!! I really want all of this selfishness to be some sort of mental health diagnosis.  Something acceptable that people will be all okay and sympathetic with, but nothing so serious as to make people feel sorry and uncomfortable.  Not enough to embarrass the girls, but just enough that I don't have to take responsiblity for my selfish, lazy, angry, depressed, exhausted, obnoxious behavior.

I am afraid. I am really afraid. Of everything.  Mostly, I am afraid of the opinions of humans.  What will they think?  Do they think..."You know, just quit complaining.  Do or don't do; there is no try."  I really wish I didn't care so much about what people think.

I want people to think I am smart.  I fake it by cracking jokes.  I used to be pretty funny.

You know what is really funny?  What is really funny is that Jesus knows me, and he invites me to bring my bitchy self (who is really foul mouthed and loves to watch funny movies that have I ought to be better than)....to the table.  I am just not sure He laughs at Madea.  He might.

He still wants to be in relationship with me.  Because He loves me. He. Loves. Me.  Because of that, I want to be what He wants me to be.  Real.