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Five days and counting. Still nowhere to move to. I've offered thousands of dollars, and landlords still refuse to return my call. "A what?.. a Rottwieler?"

So..

Kevin was at the bar last night. "You know me," he said, referring to my conversations with Margaret (who mostly bitches about him and his semi-relationship with their son). "Am I just a worthless drunk?"

Naw, not really.

"You know what kills you?" he says. "You know what hurts the most? True feelings. When you throw out the bullshit and hit true feelings. Those are the worst."

And I am momentarily stunned by this thought.

I've always liked Kevin, to an extent, but frankly never thought that much of him (as I've mentioned here several times before). But, Jesus Christ, that's an incredible thought. He maybe slurring his words as he says it, but he'd dead on. True feelings, those feelings we bury under our various public faces, those we are afraid to show people we even know and love, those realities we spend so much time pretending don't exist and suffer for whenever they emerge.

True feelings. These are the reasons life can be so difficult.

See, I'm thinking, we are not really compatible. People, I mean. We are not compatible with each other when you get right down to it. It is simply not possible for two people to truly relate to each other's deepest demons, their innermost desires and needs. We all hate that part of ourselves. We could never begin to accept that part of each other's. I think of my parents. There are few less compatible souls on the planet, but they have survived 40 years of marriage simply because they were raised with the belief that the whole was greater than the one (a pleasant thought, but one our later generation cannot accept). They do not talk. They have never explored the ugly side of each other's psyche. Christ, they sleep in separate bedrooms. Yeah, and they're my model of a happy couple.

True feelings. My parents have probably never shared that. And that's why they're still together.

Think about this. You meet someone, fall for them, yet you still keep parts of yourself from them. They may not like it, you think. They think you are "This" way, you worry that they may find out it's a sham. Like that old Billy Joel song, "The Stranger": "Well, we all have a face that we hide away forever, and we take them out and show ourselves when everyone is gone.." And then, finally, the day comes when, for whatever reason, you've been pushed to a limit and those "true feelings" show up. They are always bitter and ugly. They are the ones you hide. They are the deepest part of you. They only surface in self-protective moments. They are the ones that make you scream. They are the ones that make you exaggerate violently. They are the ones that cause the realization that, yes, I love this person, but I'm so fucking selfish I don't give a motherfucking shit. I am me. I am not a part of you. When the ultimate final push comes to shove, Fuck You, I hate you, leave me alone. Be me or be gone.

Truth Actual bare boned reality. It's ugly. It's what we hide. It's the women I know who've been raped and physically mutilated and believe you'll think less of them if you know. It's tossing around in your bed at night, kicking and sweating from the nightmares and then getting up and building a smile for all your co-workers. It's telling those you love how much they mean to you and at the same time wishing they were someone new, someone different. It's realizing you may be wrong but finding yourself lashing out in a screeching primal rage anyway. It's violence. It's irrational. It's natural. It's life. It's true.

It's fucked.

wwood