July 29

In the past, people (notice I didn’t say, ‘friends’) described me as “An open book that you have to read whether you like it or not.” And that was only partly true. What they didn’t know is that most of that book was fiction, a lie. Mixed in with the truth was a load of lies and falsities I had conjured up around the truth. I had stories to tell about running from the police like everyone else, but I always loved adding more to the story. Running from the police was fine, but what if I had a broken ankle? Or what if I was carrying an eight-ball of meth and needed to get rid of it but couldn’t because my dealer would kill me? I mean, WHAT IF! Though my story was still exciting on its own, I loved to embellish everything to the maximum point of believability. After any length of time, most people would catch on to my tall tales and no longer want to hang out with me because of all the lies and bullshit.

Reflections

Could it be that the one thing you do to make yourself so fucking interesting has the opposite effect than what you desire?

Daily Challenge

Try not to tell everyone, everything, all the time. Instead, leave something to the imagination once in a while.