Approximately ten minutes after the first coffee of the day, the world is new.
This is a cliché´, I agree wholeheartedly, but it doesn’t make it any less valid and on particularly gray wednesday, hump day as they call it in our annoying-little-sister-of-a-country, morning it’s one of those little pick me ups that we’d like to pretend don’t really mean anything to us, it’s a little something that sweetly sighs ‘don’t forget to breathe’ in our ears during the heat of the busiest day of our life.
Admittedly, it’s not something that can be found in a little capsule, or at the bottom of a bottle, or even laying in your bed the morning after, but those little, microscopic even, things we’d be in a foul mood without, but are far too small to be upset about not receiving, if one were to be in a situation so unfortunate, oh how truly wonderful they are.
This brings me to my main topic of the evening: The Guilty Pleasure. An odd thing, really, one of the many thoughts that provoke me to rest my thumb jawside and allows my fingers to graze over the rest of my, mostly invisible, beard. If it’s something we enjoy, and God only knows we all have them, why are they shameful? What’s the fun in playing it safe, when it’s clear most of would much rather misbehave? When did the guilt in a guilty pleasure get to be so guilty? I’m not looking to cause trouble or even probe into the ‘are you naughty, are you nice?’ debate, but why must we censor our feelings?we may not all share the same guilty pleasure, some may favour trying trying on their husbands masculine cologne is a small kick of penis envy and others may simply enjoy ‘testing’ the crème brulee´ with a spoon, either way, can we not all just ease up in the fact that everyone has ‘a thing’ can we not just agree that in this case, being bad never felt so good?
Perhaps, I’m trying to ease my conscience by justifying some wrong doing I’ve done by labeling it a ‘guilty pleasure’ so I can hold myself as a helpless victim of a spiders web, oh shame!sometimes we all get tangled,people as a specimen are not perfect we all have dirt, to some degree, under our fingernails, we all shiver when we hear certain names, everyone has a secret, whether it’s a paragraph in a blog, a life in a journal or something that follows us around daily, our secrets, our demons, sometimes even our guilty pleasures, never leave us, but sometimes it’s necessary to vent; a simple solution to a more complex situation that fails to waive us responsibility, maybe one day we’ll be strong enough to step up to it and not be so afraid, our road is long, our hope is strong.
oh my sweet misused blog, tonight i love you, but tomorrow go away.