Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

Image for post
Image for post
sketch of Pinocchio (Walt Disney Co.)

I lie to everyone. All the time.

I lie to my parents. I do that for very good reasons, or as my cousin Doris likes to say, “Anything to help them sleep at night.” Smart cookie, my cousin.

I lie to my children. They are lies of omission, things I do not tell them. For example, I do not say how much I hate it when they spend nights at their friends, how much better I sleep knowing the whole family is home.

I lie to my husband. I pretend to be in a good mood, although I am not sometimes, because he’s a nice guy and deserves me to be nice back to him.

I lie to my friends. Sometimes I want to stay home and not have lunch with anyone. Actually, I want to either stay home or eat lunch by myself ALL the time, because I am ridiculously asocial, but my friends are wonderful people and know that I must be socialized. Hell, I also know I must be socialized, so I myself suggest lunch, because I love my friends to bits.

But I lie loudest when I lie to myself. When I say that I will be more mindful today, will be kinder to myself today, write more, be able to control my anger better, be smoother, easier, cook more, clean more, do more, be more. Yet hour after hour, day after day, I achieve none of those things — to be fair, I have been cleaning my house little by little, and have been drinking less (not that I was out of control before, but it was heading in the wrong direction). Both of those things have taken me a while to get to, and still are taking time, and there have been days when I have fallen off the wagon — days when I have not cleaned, and days when I should not have had a drink but did. But I climb back on those horses and keep on keeping on.

Still, I continue to lie to myself most days, and said change takes a long time coming. But true change is like any home repair or do-it-yourself project — it always takes longer than anticipated, some parts are more difficult to come by, and it costs way more than estimated. Hard work is hard work, I wouldn’t say I’m allergic to it, but if I can avoid it, I will. In the meantime, I keep telling myself that I am a hard worker, and that it is only a matter of time that I will wake up one day and magically become everything I want to be.

These pants I am wearing seem strangely hot all of the sudden.

Written by

Writer and storyteller, immigrant, wife, mom, knitter, collector of jokes, lover of cheap, sweet wine.

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store