This post has nothing to do with marriage. But lots of other themed blogs that I read often include stuff that has nothing to do with their themes so I’m following suit. Plus, The Internet seems to prefer lists over stories, so for once I’m doing that here too.
After reading my friend Susie’s recent blog post on confessions, and after I commented up a storm saying that “confession” is one of the primary functions of a writer, I became inspired to write out a list of my own confessions. I figured I ought to practice what I preach. (You can see the whole interchange here). My argument basically centers upon Anne Lamott’s claim that writers have a “moral obligation” to tell the truth, so that readers can be set free from the “terrible sense of isolation we all have.”
The items I’ve listed below are the things I am embarrassed of. They are some of the things that make me silly, or an idiot, or worse – evil. Some things I’m less embarrassed of than others. The list could go on and on but I am told people don’t like to read long posts on the internet. *grimace*
Please don’t hate me for them. Maybe you’ll even see yourself in some of them a little bit and feel a little less weird or sinful yourself? Here’s hoping I don’t just humiliate myself by sharing them.
I’m also having a contest where you can win a $5 Tim card if you post a comment. See details below.
Here’s my confession list:
- I’ve tried to read a book while driving a car before.
- If I’m honest, the three things I want most in life are (a) clear skin (b) to be recognized as a writer (c) for people to think that I’m interesting. I would probably sacrifice my health, and, in my worst moments, several aspects of my character and some of my most valuable relationships for the sake of these things.
- I routinely have witty, imaginary conversations with people when I’m sitting on the john. I’ve done this my whole life. And I almost always have a British accent. My most frequent interlocutors are men on whom I have crushes, and without exception I demonstrate why I am too good for them.
- My biggest fear in life is that I’ve never had an original thought or impulse in my life. In my most private moments, I have to face the reality that I am profoundly unremarkable.
- The low traffic stats for this blog have brought me to tears.
- Overall, I’m embarrassed of the person I am. But I don’t like to let on that I am embarrassed, so I hide it by using impressive Latinate language and by making fun of my friends – whom I love and cherish and couldn’t live without – behind their backs. It makes me feel better about myself. It makes me feel cool. The fact that I had to use the word “Latinate” here bespeaks the depth of my arrogance.
- I’ve had a crush on Matt Tiessen since 2001. The same year I met and fell in love with Ben. When we watch Relient K music videos together it takes all my willpower to keep from sighing wistfully breathing out “. . . I love you, Matt.”
- I’ve been trying to have a baby for seven months. I’ve been so upset about my inability to get pregnant that I once spent a whole morning curled up on the stairs, crying. I then went on Facebook and hid every one of my “friends” who is either pregnant or a new mother so I couldn’t see their status updates any more. And now I don’t know how to un-hide them.
- I sometimes think that if I just have autistic kids – which is quite possible considering Ben’s gene pool – maybe I would rather not have any kids at all.
- I take immense pride in being the only person in my church to have an MA and to have been the first one to get a BA (outside of Bible college). I feel threatened by the fact that a number of very smart young people are now attending university, and I secretly hope they don’t surpass me in education. If they do, it better be in the sciences.
- I have considered doing my PhD exclusively for the status.
- I composed this entire list while driving a car.
Here’s the contest: post one of your own confessions in a comment. I’ll give you until the end of the week (that is, until Fri, Nov 27). You can leave it anonymously, so that the only person who will know your identity will be me (And how can you be embarrassed to let me see them after the mortifying confessions I’ve offered above?). At the end of the week I will pick my favourite, and since my readers seem to be almost exclusively Canadian, I will personally mail the winner a $5 gift card from Tim Horton’s. (If you are American? I’ll work something out. Starbucks?).
One last confession: this contest is primarily an attempt to get more comments out of you. I want to know who my readers are.
{ 25 comments… read them below or add one }
I have dislocated both my big toes on separate occasions, and both have happened due to a generous amount of my own stupidity. (Well, I was a kid, so you can’t completely blame it on my lack of intelligence.)
The first time I dislocated a big toe (I can’t remember which one happened when), I was swinging from a swing set pretending to be Tarzan with the chest pounding, animalistic yell, toy binoculars (they seemed to fit the theme at the time) and all. Then I fell. Conclusion: I was forced to go to the Mennonite chiropractor (there’s no way I’m spelling that German word) where she rubbed my toe back into place during quite the appropriate episode of screaming by a little Mennonite boy. And I couldn’t walk for three days.
The second time time I dislocated a big toe, I was doing a karate jump kick off of my bed to impress my uncle Frank. The only person I hurt was myself and I also think the only person I impressed was myself. Conclusion: see my first dislocation of a big toe.
The End
P.S. Is it a confession if you’re slightly proud of it?
Hahahaha I love these stories. I’m not sure whether they still count as confessions if you’re proud of them. Either way, they’re entertaining.
Boldly honest, Kathleen. And completely lovable.
Ok, I confess that whenever I’m driving anywhere alone, always, always, I crank the music to levels that are way beyond acceptable (I’m always paranoid that I won’t hear sirens, but it doesn’t seem to have the effect of actually making me turn the volume down), and sing along at the top of my lungs. Usually to Michael Buble. Pretending that I’m a sexy jazz lounge singer. Or starring in a big-budget Hollywood musical. Or just singing with Michael Buble. Or singing to a big audience that includes the guy I have a crush on, who realizes he’s swept away by me, based on my glorious singing. (The last fantasy is the best, actually). I’ll repeat the same track multiple times, perfecting my performance.
I know that a lot of people sing in the car, but I’m passionate about it. I prefer driving alone to having company, because I’d rather be singing than making small talk. I look forward to driving to and from work, because I get to sing with Michael. I’m always a little sad when I get wherever I’m going, because I want to keep singing.
I pretend to myself that I listen to all sorts of cool things in the car, but I’d say that, despite my great love for all sorts of genres and artists, 90% of the time it’s Michael Buble. I’ll put something else on, but it just doesn’t do it for me.
At least you don’t have to imagine too hard, Dayna, being the phenomenal singer you are. It would be a different story if I was imagining that I was a sexy jazz lounge singer, which would be similar to a manatee imagining she was one of Beyoncee’s backup dancers.
I’m comforted to hear that your singing fantasies are played out to a mainstream artist like Micheal Buble. It makes me feel a little better about tearing up after watching Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me” music video.
Kath … how would you compare/contrast your blog to your diary? It seems to me (and I could be completely wrong) that you would never lament the low numbers of people reading your diary, yet would never question the value of keeping a diary. Something to think about when you despair at the readership of this blog. Which, by the way, I find highly entertaining.
Sorry I don’t have a confession. I guess I don’t want that $5 Tim’s card bad enough
Good point, Terry. When I started this blog I told myself it was going to be something of a “literary lab” where I would experiment with my writing. The purpose of experimenting is to learn, not to gather followers. I will keep that in mind during my future traffic slumps. Thanks.
Kathy. You have found my weakness. I am completely and utterly addicted to trying to win free stuff. It really doesn’t matter what the free stuff might be. I once entered to win a snuggie on facebook.. a SNUGGIE! I am pretty lucky when it comes to winning items that I have paid to have the chance to win.. most recently a three person deck swing. Man I love buck and does for that, but have yet to obtain the elusive free prize. I suppose this counts as a confession, as well as the primary reason for my response. However, I feel like I owe you more than one confession for the reason which I will now confess: I have written up replies for your blog in the past but have never posted them. I always come to the conclusion that my opinion is of no consequence as I am a big dummy, therefore the world would only become dumber (duuh) if I contributed to the general conversation. There you have it! Two confessions.. Tim’s card here I come!
Well, I’m so glad I was finally able to pull a comment from you! I can’t believe you actually wrote out comments that you didn’t post. You have deprived us all, I am sure! Hopefully this first act of courage will usher in more for the future!
Here’s one that I’ve never explained to anyone, partially because it’s completely ridiculous and absolutely inexplicable: every time, I mean, every time(!) I brush my teeth, the theme song to The Benny Hill Show pops in my head. Thus, I always am brushing my teeth to the Benny Hill Show theme. I should probably go see a therapist about that.
*Phew!* I’m confessed out.
I admit, when I first read this I had to just sit back and laugh to myself for a few minutes, and just be grateful that quirks like this exist and that people are willing to tell me about them. My perspective on life brightened considerably with this confession. And then I had to YouTube the Benny Hill theme song because I actually had no idea what that was. And then I because even happier.
For some reason I equate my confessions with anxieties, and I have many:
I have a fear that I am an inapt student, that my work and thoughts are not up to par, and that I may never fulfil my dream of becoming a scholar.
That I will never fall in love.
I forgot to add, my confessions are boring.
Responses to some of your confessions:
Without a doubt, I believe that you will establish yourself as a successful writer, and I must add an interesting one. First off, you have a unique background which contributes to your insight on various things, such as literature and marriage; you are not only smart (your M.A speaks to this), but wise (you are ethically engaged through your writing, especially this blog); the fact that you are versed with the Latinate language— the list could go on. Also, you’re so pretty, I never notice if you have unclear skin.
I agree, it’s so difficult to have original thoughts; but I believe that we have original interpretations of original thoughts, which makes our interpretations original thoughts.
I have so many whimsical conversations that they happen to acquire a life of their own in my mind.
Your abilities to read and drive and write and drive are pretty impressive!
If people could read my mind I would be shunned by everyone I know. I can’t control my thoughts, and sometimes I would rather not try.
Also, aside from my confession…Kathleen you tried reading a book while driving! You are crazy!
I know . . . not one of my most shining moments.
Here’s a weird confession:
I love my left hand. My left pinky finger in particular. To be even more precise, the nail on my left pinky.
My left hand is significantly smaller than my right hand. My tiny finger on my left hand is just so cute to me, making the nail super cute since it’s so small. I often stare at my little pinky with it’s adorable nail.
My right hand I find gross. When I’m hot or working hard (or both) the veins become big and it looks like a man’s hand. The left hand, on the other hand (no pun intended!) looks like a lady’s hand. My right hand looks like it needs a hammer in it. My left hand looks like it needs to be holding a tea cup.
Maybe that’s why I’ve always wanted to be left handed.
This is hilarious. I am glad you are willing to be so open about your pinkie admiration. I have never heard a confession quite like this before.
My confession is a fear, I fear it because I hope it isn’t true. Does that make sense?
I fear that I am too selfish a person to be a good enough mother to my daughter.
Another confession ’cause we all like bonus stuff (mmm like a gift card, lol):
I walk around my kitchen floor island in a knight chess pattern- ALWAYS. The world will stop turning and we will all fly off if I fail the knight 3 up 1 over pattern.
-Eva
Your first confession makes perfect sense and I can totally relate. Well, except that I fear I am too selfish to be a good mother to my future children.
Your second confession increases my admiration for you tenfold. While chess-pattern-walking is admittedly odd, and consequently wonderful, it also means your are evidently much smarter than me. You can walk in chess? I can’t even nail down which chess pieces can do what.
Eva, Ben tells me my response is confusing so I want to clarify: what I meant to say in the first paragraph is, “The only difference is that I fear I am too selfish to be a good mother to my future children.”
Okay, my confession bears some resemblance to your British-accented toilet conversations, Kathleen. When I’m driving, I will often tell stories from my life. To no one. On many, many occasions I have looked sideways while stopped at a red light to see the occupants of the adjacent car confusedly staring at me narrating. Usually I keep talking while they watch. I reassure myself by thinking that they can only assume I’m wearing a hands-free cell phone device in the ear they can’t see. Or that I’m crazy, which would be true.
Every story I’ve ever told you guys – Rob stories, embarassing stories, funny stories, even spontaneous-seeming personal sharing, has been tested on an audience of empty Chrysler Intrepid seats. Sometimes I start gesticulating so much that I have to put my cell phone to my ear to justify the motion! These new cell-phone laws are nothing but a boon to me – now no one holds a cell while driving. I’m not so obviously mental: yay!
Oh my goodness. Thank you for this confession. Now I know why your stories are all so mind-bogglingly awesome. You PRACTICE!! This is doing wonders for my self-esteem. I feel better, somehow, knowing that your talent is not merely God-given — which it obviously is — but it is also honed with practice. Phew.
This has been so fun to read…many laugh out loud moments – love the knight pattern around the kitchen island!
No Tim’s out here in California so if I’m the winner you may donate my card to the runner up or keep it for yourself.
I think burping out loud is more disgusting than passing gas in public (for me, it’s too close to the sound of someone vomiting so I get grossed out and the gag reflex begins)
I’m a yarn snob all the way…If I’m going to knit with it it’s got to be 100% natural fibre.
I fear being emotionally vulneralble. To do so means my heart needs to be involved which means I risk injury to myself and others. I’d rather avoid this which….does exactly the very thing I’m trying to avoid. Still working on this one.
I occasionally smoke a cigarette. A clove if I want to revisit my highschool days.
I have a father who’d rather dig for food out of a trash can so as to save the money he gets each month for drugs.
I have the television on at all times. It’s somehow comforting to me.
I wish I met God more fully whenever He shows up in my life.
I’ve never fully grieved the passing of my first husband.
I can recite the words to 16 Candles and When Harry Met Sally and often do whenever I watch them.
I’m not registered to vote and don’t intend to be.
I am reminded of a few things I should confess because of what’s been written by all of you and Kathleen.
1- The other day I was driving to St Clair College while eating my supper, while listening to the radio, while making a phone call to my wife. And the vehicle I was driving was stick shift!
2 – The last confession I just made I mostly just shared to brag about ability to multi-task while driving.
3 – I get super jealous at others who can better perfect doing things in life than me. As a result I get depressed and try to get back home as soon as possible. Too bad I can’t ‘dance out my anger’ in the woods or in front of my car headlights or something – it would be more glorious and probably more effective.
4 – Every time I’m in a store and hear music that is even remotely danceable, I purposely step outside the beat to avoid any type of movement associated with the music.
Alright, here’s my confession. I actually don’t want the tims card because this will reveal how mean I really am…
My husband snores…LOUD. While I am trying to sleep all that I hear is this chain saw going off beside me and usually I can bump him so that he will turn on his side and it gets quieter.
But one night he was kind of congested and I had been in bed for close to an hour trying to sleep through this terrible, loud, frustrating and angering snoring.
So I did what any good wife would do. I punched him in the back. I immediately regretted this because he woke up and said “what?!” and I just pretended I was sleeping. But the thing is it worked and he never remembered it!
So sometimes when it gets to be too much I will punch him. Not too hard but enough to wake him and I will always pretend that I am still asleep.
I have thought about telling him…..but he never questions me the next day so I figure he forgets. Plus I doubt he will ever find this page because he hates facebook….so I know this is a safe place to confess, muahaha. Anyway, I know its mean but hey, I am the one who gets up in the middle of the night to feed a baby right?
Ben and I both laughed out loud at this. It’s even funnier that he still doesn’t even know about it.
Oh by the way I have read a book while I was driving too! Scary when you look up and you’ve driven like a kilometer without looking! (The book was one of The Mark of the Lion series by Francine Rivers, just in case you’re curious) LOL:)