Pertinacious.

I hate that I start so many of these posts with I, but it is truer than true that I am clinging desperately to a false sense of security in my insecurity. You see, I tell myself he will never change his mind and I tell myself this so that I do not have to admit to either one of us that I am pushing a whole lot more than I am pulling, that given the choice I would turn tail and run, run, run. It is the ringer you see, the ringer that has wrung me dry, no more tears to shed or heart to beat pitter patterly at the turn of his phrases. It is the ringer I cannot stand, the constant stretching of me until I am no longer recognizable to myself, wider in the middle, duller in the senses. It is glossy pink hopelessness being stretched over and upon itself in the taffy pull, growing longer and stickier until I am hopelessly entangled.

I am more than I give myself credit for, less than what everyone else seems to think. But there are truer than true truths that need to be held onto, truths so fundamental that to give them up at this late date would crack the foundations until the walls of Jericho come tumbling down. Just six more months until I am five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor, and five years too late seems as admirable a goal as any.

*****

This week on The Collective, we reveal what giant nerds we really are and wax on and on and on on our last book read.