So many white lies enter everyday life, hiding the truth and keeping people at bay. So many white lies, seemingly small and unimportant, affect people, relationships, and situations. Sometimes, I just want to scream at the top of my lungs 'Enough already!' The truth is always better than some white lie. Don't pretend you're going to do something, but know deep down inside that you're not going to do it. Don't tell someone you're going to do something, but know all along that you would never do it. A so-called friend reassured me that she would send me her old digital camera. I didn't ask for it. She willingly said that she would give it to me condition free. Of course, I knew that this was too much to ask and too good to be true, but she is (er, was) a good friend, so I trusted her. She never sent it. But hey, I'm not ranting because she didn't send me the camera. Hell, I could care less about the camera! I'm furious that she failed to tell me that she's changed her mind or that she never really and seriously considered sending me the camera in the first place! We're friends! She can tell me anything. All this over a stupid, miscellaneous thing?! Come on! Lately, she's been avoiding me. The audacity! And it seems as if she's decided that our conversation never happened and that our friendship somehow never existed. Have the fucking decency to let me know the truth or at least acknowledge the situation! At least admit you promised something, even if you never fulfilled that promise! At least say something, anything, even if we both have to pretend that we never had that conversation about the fucking camera. LoL This is insanity. I guess I know who my true friends are. Wow. A friendship at stake because of a white lie. A friendship forgotten because the truth seemed harder to share and lies seemed easier to bear. Unbelievable.
October's finally here. I love Halloween. Ghosts, goblins, and skeletons roam about freely, and monsters shed their masks without inhibition. It's a chance for abnormality to reign supreme until the clock strikes midnight and everything bizarre resembling signs of individuality is swept back into the closet. Everyone resumes wearing their same old masks again. Day in, day out. How sad. And oh the madness!
I started a new book the other day. The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner. I also picked up The Ugly American by William J. Lederer and Eugene Burdick and Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer. Let's see if I get through them all. Sometimes, I wish I could stand to read one of those cheesy romance novels for a change and afford my mind a brief respite from the big books that matter. I used to read those romance novels as a teenager when nothing seemed more important than love and angst. Ah, the horror! But now I've grown older and wiser. I know that all that stuff is pure bullshit and mere fluff. They create unreasonable expectations and recycle cliches. There are no happy endings, and the agony persists in some form or another. Cynical? I suppose I am. Cynical about the importance of romace novels, that is. I'm not at all cynical about love. I've found the love of my life, but I know that our story didn't end when we finally met. After the inital bliss, our eyes opened, and the world invaded our happy beginning, not ending. We're continuously facing new challenges as a couple, sometimes good and other times bad, and consequently writing new chapters to our story. Like every great novel, it takes a lot of time, energy, and commitment to make it a success. All this incite from once subjecting myself to the world of romance novels and its awful plots. I take it back. Maybe they're not as useless as I initially believed.
