The time to be vague has past.
Does that statement strike you as being vague? I hope not.
I’m quite serious about this. The era of the vague, the cryptic, the mysterious, the enigmatic, the clandestine, and the elusive Claire B. tendencies has past.
Eons ago, I picked up the nasty habit of keeping all my secrets to myself… nasty, because this habit bled into every single aspect of my essential growth and life. I stunted myself by holding on to my self-made lifeboat of secrets, half-truths, and silly beautiful dreams. I held onto all these pieces of myself with such continuous ferocity that my joints eventually weakened with the stress. I was completely addicted to this behavior, and again and again I was left to bind my limp limbs back together with twine and duct tape and other painfully sticky household adhesives just to maintain my life under the radar. Believe you me, I was scrapping off stickiness for months… and there I go being vague… again.
What I mean to say is this: after getting so entirely comfortable in my secretiveness and vague-gality (did I just make up that word? The answer is yes. Shakespeare did it all the time. Get over it.), I lost myself to the outside world. I was stuck in my dream-like state, sustaining my movement and growth in and through the world and living like the air around me was entirely made up of peanut butter (yum). Frankly, I didn’t want the people I loved the most to know me completely, and subsiquently stop the love and adoration they felt towards me. I lacked honesty. Oh, I was exactly myself. I didn’t try to be anything else. I just edited and hid away some of the genuine parts and flaws and needs and wants and goals that I judged potentially as “SCARY”. I had almost completely cut myself and the beautiful details of my life off to my family, my friends, and any potential or actual romantic interests. Only the people with lots and lots of time on their hands and Hardy Boy/Nancy Drew-esq tendencies ever actually pieced together the hazy clues I’d drop in my day to day conversations, the lists and notes I wrote when bored at school, church, and other institutional learning facilities (Remember this?), and, of course, MySpace blogs (YES MY FRIENDS, I had a MySpace account. Since those dark days, I have graduated to Fbook and have picked up the tradition of mocking that establishment, fully realizing that the Fbook is EXACTLY LIKE MYSPACE… maybe just… less… slutty). As you can imagine, the process of detective work was tedious for even those crafty individuals, so my life went largely unexamined.
Another down fall of living my life so vaguely was that My Dear Sweet Parents had to punish me for deeds they would fundamentally contrive and throw small scale interventions for substance abuse problems I never had… oh how I love those dear sweet people. Looking back, I guess I deserved any flack that I got, since guessing and guessing and guessing sends normal people with normal amounts of patience over the edge and I, at the time, wasn’t willing to open up and express myself like an actual human being (and echolocation only works for bats and whales).
Since this dark time (up till... uh... now), I have been trying to amend my ways. I know that living less secretly will be worth it, and my various relationships will flourish and sprout beans, carrots, and other healthy vegetation necessary for hale and hearty living. I could take a vow, put my hand on some religious text, and swear on my great-grandfather’s grave to live out loud, without fear, as honestly and un-vague as I possibly can. But this probably will always be something I need to work on… plus being vague always had some artistic merit to it. Hmmm…
Maybe I’ll just stock up on double sided tape and red thread, PLUS a megaphone and ad space, and we’ll see how this experiment in living louder works out for me.
Does that statement strike you as being vague? I hope not.
I’m quite serious about this. The era of the vague, the cryptic, the mysterious, the enigmatic, the clandestine, and the elusive Claire B. tendencies has past.
Eons ago, I picked up the nasty habit of keeping all my secrets to myself… nasty, because this habit bled into every single aspect of my essential growth and life. I stunted myself by holding on to my self-made lifeboat of secrets, half-truths, and silly beautiful dreams. I held onto all these pieces of myself with such continuous ferocity that my joints eventually weakened with the stress. I was completely addicted to this behavior, and again and again I was left to bind my limp limbs back together with twine and duct tape and other painfully sticky household adhesives just to maintain my life under the radar. Believe you me, I was scrapping off stickiness for months… and there I go being vague… again.
What I mean to say is this: after getting so entirely comfortable in my secretiveness and vague-gality (did I just make up that word? The answer is yes. Shakespeare did it all the time. Get over it.), I lost myself to the outside world. I was stuck in my dream-like state, sustaining my movement and growth in and through the world and living like the air around me was entirely made up of peanut butter (yum). Frankly, I didn’t want the people I loved the most to know me completely, and subsiquently stop the love and adoration they felt towards me. I lacked honesty. Oh, I was exactly myself. I didn’t try to be anything else. I just edited and hid away some of the genuine parts and flaws and needs and wants and goals that I judged potentially as “SCARY”. I had almost completely cut myself and the beautiful details of my life off to my family, my friends, and any potential or actual romantic interests. Only the people with lots and lots of time on their hands and Hardy Boy/Nancy Drew-esq tendencies ever actually pieced together the hazy clues I’d drop in my day to day conversations, the lists and notes I wrote when bored at school, church, and other institutional learning facilities (Remember this?), and, of course, MySpace blogs (YES MY FRIENDS, I had a MySpace account. Since those dark days, I have graduated to Fbook and have picked up the tradition of mocking that establishment, fully realizing that the Fbook is EXACTLY LIKE MYSPACE… maybe just… less… slutty). As you can imagine, the process of detective work was tedious for even those crafty individuals, so my life went largely unexamined.
Another down fall of living my life so vaguely was that My Dear Sweet Parents had to punish me for deeds they would fundamentally contrive and throw small scale interventions for substance abuse problems I never had… oh how I love those dear sweet people. Looking back, I guess I deserved any flack that I got, since guessing and guessing and guessing sends normal people with normal amounts of patience over the edge and I, at the time, wasn’t willing to open up and express myself like an actual human being (and echolocation only works for bats and whales).
Since this dark time (up till... uh... now), I have been trying to amend my ways. I know that living less secretly will be worth it, and my various relationships will flourish and sprout beans, carrots, and other healthy vegetation necessary for hale and hearty living. I could take a vow, put my hand on some religious text, and swear on my great-grandfather’s grave to live out loud, without fear, as honestly and un-vague as I possibly can. But this probably will always be something I need to work on… plus being vague always had some artistic merit to it. Hmmm…
Maybe I’ll just stock up on double sided tape and red thread, PLUS a megaphone and ad space, and we’ll see how this experiment in living louder works out for me.
I have a megaphone you can barrow....it probably needs batteries
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