Reality, there's a concept!

My favorite bumper sticker is "don't believe everything you think". Take my mother (please). If she thinks it, it is not only true, it is the definitive truth. And, she is obligated to say it, too, no matter how tacky or mean-spirited it is. My reality is a lot different. I get to think all kinds of stinky stuff, but it is not OK to say it out loud, for anyone else to hear. Instead, I write it in my journals, yell it to God in the car, and share it with a few friends who accept me, warts and all. My thoughts are not particularly pretty most of the time. I wish they were, really I do, but I am remarkably human. My words, now that's another story. I try to be honest and kind at the same time, a real tricky proposition. And I think I am much too passive a lot of the time, but it beats an unkind retort. Anger is new to me, too. Usually, I would get depressed rather than express any anger. Now I let off steam in exercise and hard work, like gardening, and pushing the lawnmower around on my hilly backyard pseudo-lawn. I suppose you can tell that I am chewing on a really big wad of disappointment at the moment. Someone I love is hurting herself, and reality dictates that I let her do that. Just trying to stay healthy enough to help her, should she ask for it later. Her reality is in collision with mine. And I am shaken up here. I can tell because I made myself peach pancakes with whipped cream, cinnamon, and sliced almonds for breakfast, and lunch will again be sushi with wasabi. Reality is that comfort is something I put into my mouth, not something that comes out of it.