Lying is so much easier than telling the truth, especially when you've done or said something wrong and don't want to own up to it. No one wants to be in that kind of situation. Unfortunately, life is what it is and nobody is perfect. Shit gets said that shouldn't be said, people's feelings get hurt when they probably shouldn't, and promises are made that eventually get broken. Such is life. So when such situations arise, it's typically easier to tell a lie than to face the firing squad.
Lies fester and become a part of you. They lie (no pun intended, seriously) in wait, daring you to forget about them, because when you do, you best believe you will be called on your inability to remember your lie. That's when shit gets real. So you have to remember your lies. And that can potentially mean you have to keep track of fibs you told years and years ago. In my opinion, it's not worth it. Now, that doesn't mean I don't have a list of shit from years past that I've lied about. I'm human, afterall. But I wish I had never told those lies because now they are part of my blood, an unwanted piece of me, like a popcorn kernel lodged in a nose.
I don't want to lie to you guys, because you've been so amazing and encouraging. I fucked up last weekend and I smoked some cigs. I had had a stressful week with the littlest one, but that's not what set me off. I got through those days and was just fine until Saturday night. It was boredom. I totally got bored with my nightly routine of putting the kids to bed and watching TV. I wanted to stay up and sit on my back porch and smoke and smoke and smoke and watch Bridesmaids bloopers (my go-to for a good laugh. Watch it) on YouTube. So that's what I did. I also drank 3 Strongbow ciders. They were bloody amazing. (Sidenote: I might start using "bloody" in my daily life because I love the way it sounds in conversations. Maybe it's the accent, but I like to think it's the word itself.) I smoked and I drank a little and I LOVED it. But I'm happy to say that I am back on the wagon. I slipped. I "relapsed," but I'm not giving up. I can't let my mind get me down. Boredom isn't an excuse to pollute my body. It's not an excuse to give up on weeks of hard work. I hate that I'm forced to start over counting days, but that's my burden to bare. Don't fuck up and you won't have to pay the piper. Oh, and you won't have to tell the people who have been routing you on that you were an ass and gave in to temptation much too easily.
There you have it my lovelies. I fucked up. I let myself down. I may have let some of you down, and for that, I apologize. I'll fight harder, I promise. I'll make it a point to not let being bored bring me down. Maybe every time I'm feeling squirrely, I'll try to exercise instead. Whoa tiger, reel it in. Let's not get too crazy. But I will make it a point to occupy my mind. So I hope you still like me. I hope some of you even love me. And I REALLY hope you don't give up on me. Accountability, yo. It sucks.