drunken confessions

I was feeling morose and whimsical--a dangerous combination if ever there was--and talking to an old classmate of mine. I was telling him I want to get drunk and confess feelings I never had, things I didn't do, significance that isn't there. "I want contrived vulnerability," I said. "All of the poetry and the connection and the disconnect, none of the honesty."

I was half joking, of course, but as he responded, I thought of all the times I'd done this in some way. Telling the stories from my past as if they were dark secrets, stories I never mentioned to anyone else, building that false rapport. "Yes, it's very sad. I've learned to deal." "Yes, I've got troubles. Who doesn't?"

Really what I long for is the purity of the drunken confession--no more of the secrets I didn't even know I was keeping. I want everything to be out there, somewhere. Someone has to understand.

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