Pants on Fire

Liar, liar ....

This post brought to you by (of all things) Season 2 of Grey's Anatomy, which got me thinking about the lies I tell myself to make me feel better.

Example: I am actually happy Luke is leaving for five weeks (with a visit or two home) because now I don't have to cook for him. Cooking makes me feel so yucky that I just have been avoiding the task, and I feel bad always feeling bad when he's around. So, he's leaving. Yay.

Truth: This sucks. I hate it when he leaves. WHO is going to feel sorry for me all the time while he is gone?! WHO is going to keep me company? WHO is going to laugh at my so not funny jokes? No one. No one because Luke is gone with the stupid, evil Army.

Or, another one:

Lie: Most of my pants dont fit because I'm pregnant.
Truth: The pants dont fit in more areas than the stomach -- if it was only a tight waistband maybe I could deal. But no, its the hips, the rear, the whole nine yards is tight. That makes me mad.

And again....

Lie: I'm a morning person. I love getting up for work and being here by 6:45 a.m.
Truth: At one time, not untrue. Yes, at one time I did like getting up early and I did sleep five hours a night and was just dandy ... but now, NOW I go to bed at 8:30 p.m. and want nothing more than to sleep until 7 a.m., with a half hour nap at about 2 p.m. just to hold me over for the rest of the day. I. Love. Sleeping.

Now, go and contemplate your lies.