authentic.

i've been a bit of a hypocrite.

back in my younger days, having so much energy and anger-driven optimism, i took it upon myself to be exemplary. i was exhausted all the time, because i was doing so much, all the time, that i collapsed at the end of every day, utterly spent, and authentically beat. i woke up each morning to do it all over again, with slightly renewed fervor, and i never expected to stop, really, or at least, not until i was old and retired. i couldn't wait to retire.

all day, i spend the best of me with the youth, hoping for them and encouraging them and judging them and encouraging them some more. then i come home and spend the rest of me with my own young ones, loving them and encouraging them and hoping for them to be better than i ever will be. but i've been faking a bit these days. i've been dormant. i've been answering greetings with, 'fine thanks, you?' i've not been saying the whole truth. i've been lying.

in my day, i tell people what to do. and more than ever, it has become outright hypocrisy. i demand excellence in this format or that, but i do not put forth the greatest effort i can to be excellent. i speak highly of loving so hard it hurts, but i can't remember the last date i went on, or how exactly a dinner can be romantic. i talk about running fast, while i sleep with a night splint and a case of plantar fasciitis to beat the band. all this, and i can hardly come up with ideas for photo shoots, or grammatical examples for lessons on grammar, or other ways to write good.

hopefully, it's all just a case of the blahs. it's a case of not riding enough. it's a case of the house getting cold and winter-like and drafty again. maybe it's a case of going dormant before coming out again, swinging and sweating, in some kind of raging creativity. whatever it is, i hope the fog clears soon, and gives way to either sunshine or snow. something must precipitate.