Life is nothing but a series of missteps and miscommunication, throw in a few good moments and some fantastic characters and bam, it’s noteworthy. I myself have become one of these fantastic characters over the years, although the word may actually at this point be caricature. Ya know? Those highly distorted but probably frighteningly accurate representations of the average Joe. Yep I am one of those. My name is Emily, but depending upon who you ask, I am eight thousand different “Emily”‘s. Awhile ago, my mother finally decided it was about damn time to call my bullshit and tell me that I need to fix my compulsive lying issue. (See, now you are gonna second guess the whole blog; because when does a compulsive liar tell the truth?) I was utterly indignant, stuck my nose in the air and accused her of being nosy and over protective. I secretly wished, every day that she would just leave me alone; let me travel, let me drop out of school, just be my very own person. (Ironic because there are so many versions of me.)
A couple days ago, after a few months of smooth sailing and secret resentment she drops the BOMB. Nope, those aren’t just calcifications of breast tissue it’s cancer! Ta Da, that is a magic trick because just like that I for once felt utterly responsible for something. Shit, all of my wishful resentment has caused cancer. This is my fault for wanting to be left alone, is it too late to pick back up my Catholic faith? Anyway I know realistically that the cancer is not my fault but I have also realized that if I am to be fully independent, I most likely can’t handle it. So karma is a bitch right?
Sincerely, Emily the Liar.