Mendaciloquence

Drabble 69 – Mendaciloquence

Mendaciloquence

One of my most vivid memories from childhood is of being caught in a lie. I’d gone into the shed, somewhere I wasn’t supposed to go, and my father asked what I’d been doing in there and who had been with me.

At first I blamed two of my cousins. Then just one of them–the one I didn’t like. I remember imagining them fading in and out of my story, the three of us standing in a black abyss that represented the shed in my memory, then just two, then just one. I don’t remember if I ever fessed up that I was lying, but I knew he knew. I don’t even remember what the truth was, only that I lied, only the way that I lied. It was so clumsy, so obviously a child trying to hide the truth.

I’m a good liar now. It’s frightfully easy for me to get away with it, which is why I rarely do it. Maybe if it makes for a better story I’ll fudge the details, and I don’t mind telling white lies to spare somebody’s feelings. I look back at that instance of me, too small and young to know that changing my story was practically confessing I’d done wrong, I think about how easy it is for me to do it now, and I wonder what changed along the way.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

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Drabble 68 – Aureate

aureate

Imposter syndrome is a real thing. Almost everybody I know experiences it to some agree, fully expecting someone to swoop down on us and cart us away for impersonating a person who knows what they’re doing. We’re our own harshest critics; ask me any time and I’ll tell you that my friends are the most hardworking, incredible, intelligent people on earth and that they deserve every good thing that might come their way. Ask me that question and I’ll pause, not just because I feel a need to be humble, but because I’m genuinely not sure.

I’ve written about this before, but I still grapple with thinking that anything I say or do has any value. Logically, I know it does. I wouldn’t have the opportunities I’ve had if my work didn’t have any kind of meaning. I wouldn’t get such nice emails from podcast listeners if the things Merri and I say didn’t matter.

But still, I wonder. I pick what I do apart and assume nobody’s listening, nobody’s reading, nobody’s caring. It’s bullshit, frankly. I know it is. I just have to keep up that daily mantra loud enough that I don’t hear the thoughts that tell me otherwise.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

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Refocillate

Drabble 67 – Refocillate

Refocillate

I have had enough of summer. Between a heat rash and the fact that most of my clothes are seasonally inappropriate, I’m ready for the crispness of fall, the smell of apples, the scary movie marathons. A lot of people live for warm summer weather but I’d rather be shivering in ten coats than panting in front of a fan.

I’m a chunky sweaters and hot cider kind of girl. I don’t care for iced tea or bikinis, and I hate getting sand in my books. I’ll let everyone else have summer; give me months of frost and gray skies and a slow transition to spring, then start it all over again.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

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