your own stench

It's amusing how spending time in your own space renders your sense of smell immune to its' surroundings. How you may be cooking or have candles lit all day and smell nothing, but leave for 10 minutes and re-enter to discover pumpkin spice and garlic cumin chicken.

There are so many things in life like this. Including the self and really good friends. If you leave yourself for too long, the internal exploration feels completely new. But it also mimics others' experience of us. We're around our own stink for so long we don't even know what we smell like to other people.

A friend recently described my blog and writing as "effortlessly honest and poignant (can't think of a better word for humorously sad)." I laughed, loudly in a humorously sad kind of way, because I know exactly what she was getting at. I am humorously sad. Not sad in the 'wah wah cry baby' sort of way or the 'oh that's pathetic sad' array either. It's hard to describe, but hearing this was one of those exacting moments as to describe my own stench to me...

It seems unfair; this inability to use this sense to strategically assess the self in new and in the flesh ways. Almost the notion that it makes sense to stub your toe every now and then so you know what pain feels like to you (specifically) and have that shock back to the here and now.

So in a humorously sad kind of way, I ask you, "do I have a point?" I don't know, you tell me what it smells like and maybe we'll both know.