The last couple of days have hit me like an imaginary freight train. I nearly fell asleep listening to our eldest daughter read at bedtime. She’s reading an Enid Blyton book - I don’t have the heart to tell her yet what a horrific old bag Blyton was, and the misery she made of her own children’s childhood.
“The Devil Wears Prada” is playing on the television. I’ve never seen it before - I somehow suvived through about the first hour, and then decided I had better things to do than watch career obsessed idiots trample each other. If people really exist in the fashion world even half as bad as those portrayed in the movie, I feel truly sorry for them.
The day has been filled with tidying up, washing up, playing with the children, and fighting fires around the house. The dishwasher is on it’s 3rd full load - and we didn’t even do anything today.
The note I received earlier has continued to tick away in the back of my mind throughout the day. Something occurred to me; how little people really know each other. While my journal on the internet paints my picture, it’s pretty insular - we only reveal that which we choose to online. We paint a picture we are happy with other’s seeing. It is authored, editied, sculpted, censored, refined. The best of us.
Maybe my late resolution for 2011 should be to edit less - to censor less. To trust that my far flung friends will accept a little more of the true picture than I had perhaps chanced in the past.