December 10, 2004

December 10, 2004

“…they’re not the judge – God’s the judge. The only person you have to think twice about lying to is
either yourself or to God.”
                                       
Bob Dylan
~ brilliance
       ……I would add my husband to
that list, but lying to him is as harmful as lying to myself.
I was hoping I could just let the quote stand alone, but unfortunately
my need to talk about things overcomes my desire to make a
point.  
  I lie, I admit it.  I don’t see a problem with it
generally, but neither do I seek it out as the easiest alternative to
truth.  The danger in me actually admitting this, lies in my
trustability, likeability…the lack thereof.  I would rather be
thought of as trustworthy, but the truth is I am…and I am not.
I don’t think I’m capable of lying to my friends, and theirs is the
trust I seek.

December 5, 2004

December 5, 2004

intense dislike of shoes.
I never wear shoes, unless it’s so cold I’m in danger of losing feet to
frostbite.  I would rather go barefoot and risk stubbing my toes
or getting bit by a snake, spider, scorpion, which is more likely than
the frostbite thing.  I like to think it’s because I’m
independent, although more likely I’m just swinging too far from having
to wear shoes and nylons everyday in the past.
   I got married barefoot, drive barefoot, go horse back
riding barefoot, and recently laid tile while barefoot. If  I
can’t get away going barefoot,  I wear flip flops.  I
sometimes have to wear shoes, but I like wearing shoes when I think they make me look sexy. (emphasis on think)
sometimes I write to punish myself

December 3, 2004

December 3, 2004

I lied about there being a part II
Logic is an amazing thing.  Something so solid, yet so relative. 
This morning Julia decided she didn’t like her shoes anymore.  At
the tender age of four she is already a slave to fashion and style, and
a hopeless shoe addict.  After spending most of the morning
pouting about how none of her shoes matched her pants, she came up with
a logical solution to her dilema.  If she had no shoes then mom
would have to buy her new shoes.   The problem  with
this plan was execution and timing.  While using moms sewing
sissors to cut up her shoes, she was discovered by me.   I
confiscated the weapon and shoes, put her on her bed.  Thankfully
parental guidance arrived to take over, and I left shaking my
head. 
Poor girl, she failed to cut up one ugly pair of old tennis shoes.