Cross My Heart

"OK, so... so... sometimes I lie. I mean, I'm weird, man. About random stuff too, I don't even know why I do it. It's like... it's like a tick, I mean sometimes I hear myself say something and think, Wow, that wasn't even remotely true." - Garden State

I wish that was the case for me instead it seems that I've been struck with the complete honesty gene. You might think that's a good thing, honorable even, but it makes for a lousy storyteller. I have a wild, active imagination however the only thing I've ever successfully lied about was the excuses I would create for being late for work. A good portion of the time I highly doubt my boss believed me. That didn't stop friends from trying them out at their jobs. Some were so outrageous that my co-workers teased me that I should write a book of them. My theory on lying is to make it so unbelievable that it has to be real.

These attempts were forced lying. Survival lying. I couldn't spout lies for interest sake. I need be able to embellish reality to make the everyday life more blogworthy. I've officially decided that I am unable to pull it off.

I kept delaying writing this very post because I wanted to come out of gates with a tall tale about how I could not go without the words written by Zach Braff. (Really what's not to love?) In my mind it was going to be a hilarious romp to start my introduction to the real blogger that my life would be shattered without. Weeks later, I realize that I don't have it in me. That in itself makes me want to curl up in a ball. I want to be a funny, intelligent writer. I want to be as brilliant as those I read. I love to surround myself with people that I admire with hopes that some of their magical dust will fall upon me.

There are so many talented writers sharing pieces of their lives. In blogland the words sit waiting for others to stumble upon them. I am lucky to have found my way to many of them. Plus I even get to have drinks on occasion with numerous talented, down to earth, real writers. The Southern Ontario Mommy crew rocks it hardcore. I feel privileged to call these women my friends. I am left in a shocked silence because one has called it a day. I often find myself drawn to the empty tub, longing for words to soak in those bubbles.

How can this gap leave me missing someone so dearly when I only knew her from reading her stories? It has made me put my guard up. I realize that there are many strangers that have woven their words so tightly that I've come to believe that I know them. With longtime friends, we rarely get to find out what dwells inside their minds. These new online friends can be anywhere in the world and they are accessible. Morning, noon or night they are there to share stories that fill my heart. They make me laugh, and nod and cry real tears. The topping on the sundae is when they relate to something that I have written with kind words. It makes the days brighter and induces many smiles.

Now I know that they can easily slip away. Vanish. The words themselves wiped away like they were never there. How real are these friendships then? Do they know how important they are to me? Now that I've poured my heart up onto the screen it makes me uncomfortable to name names. But really, I'm not saying I have grand delusions that you are my best friend. I am saying that you have a talent that is rare, the ability to write like nobody's business. I want to thank you for sharing. For bringing your life into 3D Technicolor. And thanks for the sundaes.