The Art of lying… to yourself

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Now we all know that I am a very honest person, especially when it comes to my love for lying. During my time writing for The Miscellany News, I have continuously embarrassed myself by admitting the parts of my personality that I would like to forget, but are perfect for a college comedy column. If even one person can laugh at my embarrassment, I guess it’s worth it. 

So, this week when I was trying to decide what hilarious aspect of myself I was going to tear apart, I was stumped. I could not think of anything even mildly amusing that my peers could laugh at. As I was lamenting to my friends about my troubles, one geniusly pointed out that I could write about lying. When I informed them I had already written about this and that they had just proven that they do not read my articles, I was quickly informed that I have another “little” habit that falls into the same category. On that note, I would like to introduce myself… 

  Hello, my name is Carly, and I lie to myself on a regular basis. 

You may be wondering how one lies to themself so much that even their friends point it out and they still can’t admit that they do it. Let’s just say I have a talent for these kinds of things.

For instance, I set an alarm for 7:30 a.m. every morning and fully intend on waking up and starting my day at that time. And every morning I ignore the alarm, sleep in till 10 a.m. and have no time to do the readings I was so adamant about doing before class… yet when my peers ask me what time I woke up, I proudly and confidently say 7:30 and believe it to be so. I could not explain how this works, but I assure you this happens almost every day. 

This “talent” is especially helpful when it comes to work. There have been times in my life where I have lied to myself about writing whole essays that I would later find out were nowhere to be seen. Moodle post? Emails? Conversations with professors? Consider them done, at least in my head. 

I guess the more extreme cases have only been identified over a long period of time. At the start of this year, in an attempt to help my boredom and ignore my work, I took up watching the occasional episode of “Sex and the City,” even though I have insisted that I hate the show since I have been old enough to think. Then, the occasional episode started to become more frequent. Before I knew it, I found myself pretending to be Carrie Bradshaw and narrated what I was writing while I wrote my weekly Misc articles. Yet I still insisted I hated the show and only watched it to make fun of it. And now, even as I write this article, if someone were to ask me if I liked this show, my first instinct would be to say no. 

In the end, this lying has proven to be less harmful than the other kind. OK, maybe not for me, but for everyone else. 

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