I am up reading in bed (quite often I guess) but I have been peeing every half hour all day today and it is not slowing down, so I have no idea how much I am going to sleep tonite. Started this book The Gathering, by Anne Enright, and now I have no idea why I bought it. I thought I bought it because it was nominated for the Giller Awards, but the author is Irish and I can't remember if I heard a recommendation, or what. Anyways, what has suddenly hit me that I had to grab my laptop (which doesn't really fit in a lap, does it?) and right this little thought from this one line in the first chapter that stuck in my head. I all-of-a-sudden thought this was so profound. I'm probably going to see this tomorrow and think this is so obscure or something. The line was "I do not know the truth or I do not know how to tell the truth . . . all I have are stories, night thoughts, the sudden conviction that uncertainty spawns." Isn't that so true? Sometimes I am asked about what someone said, or what happened, or how something went down and I find I am trying to explain it the best I can but is it really the truth, or my interpretation of the truth, and is that the truth? I really pride myself on being as truthful as I can - I'm not sure if I should get an award for this, because I think it is a personality fault - I can't help telling anything but the truth in most cases, and in other cases, truth is mostly stranger than fiction (at least in my life). Is it really the truth? Five different people from five different backgrounds can witness one event and give you five different accounts all very different from each other. I sometimes find that what I describe of an event might be my internal dialogue, or additions to the truth by my dreams replayed the night before and not actually the event but my rerun of the event dramatized, and this does lead to uncertainty of what actually happened.
Now I have to pee again . . .