Putting a roof over my head

My friend posted recently a blog entry I liked. I mean, I like her posts most of the time anyway, but I especially liked this one. I liked it for a lot of reasons. For one, she said things I resonated with but am too afraid to admit in writing. (Then she did it again.) She has more courage than I do. I was jealous. I was glad someone said it. Sometimes you need to hear someone else say what you feel. That’s how I know good writing: It does that. It puts vague feelings into concrete words—things I’m trying to think, wanting to say, but don’t know how to form into sentences that follow the rules of grammar. I can’t ever find those sentences it seems. I need someone to give them to me. Hers were like a gift, so I decided to stop being jealous.

Another reason I liked her post was that she let the contradictions stand like an A-frame house, each declaration leaning against the other. She was saying how she felt, and she felt both ways. I feel both ways too, but I can’t stand to let contradictions stay in the same paragraph together. I have to make things make sense. But she just said both because they were both true. Sometimes forcing things to make sense just gets in the way of what’s true. The truth doesn’t always make sense. That’s not a mark against truth though. Don’t think it is.