Today I decided I would wander over to The Daily Post and see if I could find an idea for a blog post over there, despite the fact that my stupid video is brilliant and You Tube didn’t land on a weird frame at all when they made the freeze-frame thingamawhatsits screen thing (I’m fairly certain that’s a technical term). Anyway, here is the topic of the day:
Is it always better to know the truth, even when it hurts? Or is ignorance bliss? Or are they both true some of the time?
(There’s a bonus question about WikiLeaks, but I’m not in this for extra credit today.)
Welly well well.
I’ll get to the point in a second, but first, since this seems appropriate considering the subject matter, here, have a song:
Ah, Handsome Boy Modeling School. So… How’s Your Girl? is a conceptual hip-hop album and “The Truth” is a stand-out track. I mean, holy fuck, Róisín Murphy and J-Live. (Another favorite from the album is “Sunshine” which features Sean Lennon, Money Mark and Father Guido Sarducci — how should that work? It shouldn’t. And yet…)
Anyway, I’ve been home all day with some form of plague, which is awesome and exciting. Didn’t I just have some form of plague last month? And the month before that? Yes, yes I did. I JUST LOVE WORKING WITH THE PUBLIC. That doesn’t really have anything to do with anything, but I just wanted to mention it because who’s going to stop me? Maybe I’m just throwing this out here for reference, in case this post winds up not making any sense at all. You know, I can’t help it; I have a fever.
Is it always better to know the truth, even when it hurts? Yes, dammit. Let’s take my most recent foray into being some sort of relationship cautionary tale as an example. I could choose something else, of course, and perhaps I should — my heart is scabbing over at this point, and maybe by bringing it up again I’m just picking at it, I don’t know. But no matter. Here goes:
I don’t know how a relationship goes from promising to nonexistent in the space of a month, not really, even though I’ve just had it happen. I have my guesses, and they’re fairly educated ones, but I still don’t know. And while perhaps the reason doesn’t matter at this point — the result is the same, regardless — there’s something to be said for knowing. I’d always prefer to know. Even so, I already have the truth. I don’t have particulars or reasons (and though I’ve wished for them, I’ve also come to a point of making peace with the fact that I’m not getting them, at least not without becoming some kind of crazy stalker, and I am just WAY too lazy for that, and I’m also not, um, crazy), but the truth is that things end, and there could’ve been all kinds of last words:
- “I think we should see other people. I’ve already started.”
- “It’s not you, it’s me. No, wait. Actually, it is you.”
- “It’s just that your ass really does look fat in those pants.”
- “I’ve realized that I don’t want to do this with you anymore.”
- “I never loved you.”
Or or or. But instead the last thing he said was “Call me later. I love you.” Was he just messing with me? Maybe. I mean, clearly yes on the whole “Call me later” thing, what with not taking my calls after that, and ha ha, well played, sir. But had we talked after that, had he given me one of the above-listed reasons or another one entirely, had he tried to drag the farce out for another few days, another few weeks, it doesn’t matter. At some point we would’ve wound up right here, and even though having to come to that realization on my own was an excruciating moment, it was also liberating, in a way. There were all kinds of things making me miserable at that time, and right then, that second when it dawned on me and I could look it right in the face and say “Oh, he doesn’t want to talk to me,” I could begin the process of letting go. And I still have more than enough on my plate right now. One less thing, you know?
Or is ignorance bliss? I don’t know if it’s possible to be entirely ignorant of hard truths, no matter how much we might try to be. We’re smarter than we think we are, and we have instincts, whether we pay attention to them or not. I can always feel when something is off, though there are times when I choose not to address that fact. Knowing that something is wrong and not knowing what it is (and therefore what to do about it) is terrible. There’s nothing even remotely blissful about it. It’s like when you’re so hungry it’s physically painful. (I’ve been so broke a couple of times in my life when I couldn’t really afford to eat.) It just gnaws at you and no matter what you do to try to take your mind off of it, that emptiness always makes itself known.
Or are they both true some of the time? I don’t know. I understand there’s a whole other side to this question, like I could’ve gone the route of politics (except I’d rather remove my eyeballs with a spoon than talk about politics on the internet) and in that case, it’s possible to be ignorant about so many things and something something, I’m on the verge of a point, but it’s just not happening. Uh, fever. Remember? There are times when you may want to hide from the truth, because you know it’s going to be unpleasant (to say the least), but I don’t think that’s a sustainable way to live.
You know what I believe? I believe truth will out. (And of course that’s true because it’s Shakespeare.)