Quiet Sunday Morning Secret

Peppermint hot chocolate reveals

One of my consistent little joys over the past few months has been reading a blog, PostSecret, Sunday mornings with coffee while my family sleeps.

After reading PostSecret and if you were spying on my Google Reader settings, you might be confused that I've filed my subscription under humor even though many of the secrets are sad.

My black-as-coal-heart is convinced that the original mission of PostSecret has been subverted by self-indulgent artist types with their usual abundance of both time on their hands and self-loathing.

Having kept my inner-poet still alive all these years with a quarterly feeding of brooding, my firm belief is that when artists compete for recognition of being most broken and completely pathetic, we all win. The spoils of their work are only truly appreciated when the underlying fraud that all artists represent is recognized.

I assume we all have secrets. I know I have mine. I cannot share them, not ever with anyone. If I could, they wouldn't be secrets.