Holding myself to honesty
I read quite a few blogs. There are some incredibly gifted writers in the blogisphere. They make me laugh almost to the point of puking. They have pertinent information I'm looking for. Sometimes they make me envious. I learn new things. I've realized I'm not alone in the world experiencing the day to day life of young women with all it's drama and heartache. I can read about other women who have children who are bisexual or bi-polar. It helps me to know about their experiences so I can find my way in this maze of parenting without being a total jerk. There are other women out there getting ready to turn 50, women who have already conquered the age of 50, itching to experience everything they've missed, not wanting to waste a moment of their time on toxicity or arguing, who are willing to be who they are naked (not nekkid although the laundry it would save has to be amazing) and I don't care about pretending to be "all together".
TRUTH, I haven't worn make-up or pantyhose in probably 10 years or more. I wasted my 30's on worrying about my looks and I'm glad to know other women feel the same way.
I hate facades. I hate people who say you're getting the real thing but neglect to tell you some important facts. That, reader, is called "not telling the truth." You can paint it anyway you want but omitting facts in order to lead someone to see you in a certain light is being dishonest. It makes the picture pretty but it's not real.
I make mistakes every day. I do things right every day. I say the right thing every day and I say the wrong thing..., every other day (that's good). Sometimes I'm the cause of a huge clusterf**k. Sometimes I clean up after one. But, I am who I am. There's no one behind me, in front of me or beside me. It's all me.