The Things We Think But Don't Say Aloud

The other day, in an attempt to become a better person, I asked a friend for honest feedback. The feedback was that I can be judgemental. And, when I think about it, he's absolutely right. But then, aren't we all?

To me, the things that I think are merely observations. But, to others, I guess, it's judgement. So, while I am not making a conscious effort to curb my judgemental thoughts, I am making an effort to curb my judgemental tongue because why should anyone be subjected to it? 

Still, I need to somehow get these 'observations' out of my system. So, a post on a blog that isn't read by anyone is the way! 

Here they are.

If she actually exercises as much as she makes it look like she does on her social media page, why is she still so fat?

If he's SO clever, and is, in fact, better than everyone else and the genius he claims to be, then why hasn't he achieved a single significant thing in his life?

That's it. 

Everything at my disposal. 

Except time 

Just Desserts

When bad things happen to people who have done bad things, we silently think to ourselves - serves them right. 

And, then we feel bad for having uncharitable thoughts.

I want to tell the story about the man who screwed his brother and sister over.

About, the nasty young girl who grew into a nasty adult.

About the awful child that I, myself, was.

But, I won't. Because, even if I have uncharitable thoughts, I can stop myself from putting them into words. Even if they make for a good story.

Instead, I'm going to try and think about all the bad things that have happened to me. I'm then going to think about the bad things I've done. Ask around, get some honest answers and try to be a better person.

I suppose that not writing honest blog posts should be a good first step 😅

Wherever you are. Come back. Write

When I first started writing, in the early days of blogging, I followed a few people. I think, in those days, it was only (or mostly) the thinkers who blogged. People with time to think, opinions to share, stories to tell. The stories - they could draw you in and wrap you around the life of a stranger. 

No one writes anymore.

The people whose lives I followed, where I would be happy when they were happy and silently wish for the best for them when things seemed tough. 

I what to know what happened next. 

Is the byker still as clever as ever?

Did that girl find joy after all that sadness?

Could that one special person ever bring himself to forgive me?

I wish they would all start writing again.

40

I didn't mark my 39th year. But here's 40.

Rotting lilies