Would it really be a waste of time to write falsehoods on a notepad? Seeing caviar on a grocery list surrounded by milk and bread is funny to me. Getting a calendar reminder about attending a gala in the evening is so absurdly disorganised that it cannot be genuine.
The idea sparks joy, but the psychology feels a bit strange. This feeling reminds me of Margaret Atwood’s The Blind Assassin quote
She imagines him imagining her. This is her salvation.
By writing my thoughts and spitting them into the void, I imagine a reader imagining me trying to be funny. By writing lies into reminders and schedules, I perform for an imaginary second person. Would it matter if I lied to the imaginary?
It’s not like I don’t know that caviar is not on the grocery list. I am also too type A to forget that I have an obligation to attend a dress up event, so the lies on my lists are for whoever is peaking into my imagined life. Perhaps this is how people of ye olden days lived such glamorous lives, they just lied in their diaries.
On that note, I plan to get messy in acrylic paints this weekend – it’s wintry and dreary outside but I want to look at some colourful florals.
I also want to accomplish the perfect day on Sunday: 1. Get dressed in a cute outfit 2. Go to the market 3. Return home and change into a 2nd cute outfit 4. Get an ice cream cone with a good book in tow
Maybe I need to line up my lies first.