?questions

Age-old question. What do you do when your boyfriend has been to a strip-club and lied about it? Well, more like didn’t mention it. Lying by omission- is that still a bad one? Here is another question- how do you un-know something you are not supposed to know to begin with?

You don’t. And to answer the first question. Fuck if I know. Lies are funny like that. Nobody knows all the rules. And because of the nature of a lie we kinda make them up as we go along.

Maybe the first question was not an AGE-old question. Here is a better one: How do I call you honey if you’re not really sweet?
I went home this weekend. My real home. My parent’s house. Generally life works like this:
• You’re born
• If lucky you spent some of your childhood at home
• Then you leave home repeatedly until either you or your parents move on

The homes we later create are really that for our children. Not for us. So I say, those who live at home well into their 40s know something we don’t. And yes my world view is extremely sheltered but it is mine.

I digress. I went home to see my parents before going far far away. They are cool my parents. Cool in an un-cool way. For instance I often wonder if I’ll ever be as gracious and elegant as my mother. Or wise and magnanimous like my father. I am their daughter so chances are good that I have a chance.

But then I come back to Johannesburg. To my life. And it’s fabrications and such a severe disconnection from everything that I literally ache and nothing I do numbs the ache. There is a catch though. My friends and boyfriend are convinced I need made-up angst to feel interesting. Fuck ‘em. I love them, but...okay maybe that’s not a catch.

It’s not that I’m unhappy. It is just that I can’t quite place my emotions all the time. And words are always getting in the way of what I feel.
If I ever leave and never come back- I want my parents to know they did it better than anybody else.

Nobody reads this blog. And whoever starts, won’t look at the archives. People never go back.
I’m sorry I missed two days. I had material but could not be bothered. I am pretty sure this is not supposed to be a diary- I’ll fix that.

As for the questions in the beginning: I wish you believed half the things I say, maybe then you might just know me a bit better.