Day 4: Something I have to forgive someone for.
The first person I need to forgive is whoever originally drummed up this list. Anonymous person, mad geneticist of this blog meme, I forgive you for ending that sentence fragment with a preposition.
The second person I need to forgive is myself, for agreeing to take on this project of truth. It becomes increasingly clear, as I read over the list below and compose sketches of future posts in my mind, that this is not about truth; it's about confession. Therapeutic truth, not philosophical or literary or even actual truth. Just ripping into your big mushy pile of memory and digging out something shameful or profound in the service of a writing prompt for your blog. Or more accurately, your Facebook notes page.
One of the hoariest cliches about truth (even hoarier than the term 'hoary cliche') is that it is universal. This list demonstrates that truth is provisional and prescriptive. Write a letter to your hero? Dear Mom... Dear Firefighter... Dear Homeless Guy Dressed Like Santa Claus in July... I just don't think of truth in the way that this list demands.
So how do I think of truth? I've discovered that truth doesn't like to be thought of. Thought is concentrated heat, and truth buzzes away into steam as soon as thought's beam is swung down. There was a time when I thought it meant fact, or confession, but now that I'm a bit older I've realized that the facts of my life are nobody's business. What I write has nothing to do with fact. I tweak and repurpose the facts all the time. I probably don't even remember those few facts I play with. That kind of truth is a constant error. The other truth, the one that grows over all surfaces and sends its invisible roots into the substance of all things, is just the spoor of our consciousness landing on objects.
I also need to forgive Mark Bittman for that scrambled egg recipe. Forty minutes of stirring eggs around a pan for "a mass of soft curds". Do you know what a mass of soft curds looks like, or the hideous process of transformation that occurs when a pale liquid disc of egg slowly retracts into a dark mass of something that looks indisputably like snot? It is not pretty. It tastes good, especially with tarragon and fleur de sel, but ah god is it ever ugly. Remember Slimer from Ghostbusters? Imagine if Slimer decided to commit suicide by non-stick frying pan. That's Bittman's idea of good eggs. And that's the truth.
***
These entries are part of the Thirty Days of Truth Project, which I agreed to do with several friends, because apparently we're shy about our masochism.
Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself
4 comments:
Confession can be true, though, right, or at least what there is of it? It's not like I'm telling you jokers everything ;) but what I do write is pretty much factual. I have no skill in writing fiction anyway, at least I never used to. Maybe I should try again.
My blog is a selfish writing space, really. I'm amazed that anyone reads it or gets the things out of it that they occasionally say they do. I don't know what that has to do with truth but it just popped into my head.
Laurie - The way I see it, there's no truth in confession or facts. The truth comes in the writing of it, even though it's a reinvention. I'm more and more convinced that we make up everything as we go along, even the past. It's just the froth on top of a pot of boiling pasta, spilling over and vanishing. Of course, there's always the matter of the dry crusty stuff on the side of the pot. There's the truth: dried crust.
How about forgiving a room full of early teens at a cast party; the same group that gave you a fantastically "diverse" (and embarrassingly cumbersome) list of varying alcoholic confections; the same group that failed to give you even close to enough money to pay for it all.
You may not remember it, but as the guy who accompanied you to the liquor store, I do.
Remembering our return and your impromptu "fuck you all and your petty little desires" speech still makes me grin.
Perhaps it is time for me to move on, though.
Brook - My god. That made me so, so angry. Soooo angry. I was this little raging guy in a basement. I remember throwing the money on the floor.
But I forgive them all! We were young. Young people who just wanted to drink coolers without paying for them.
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