The lies you tell yourself
I submit that your misery is the sum of the lies you tell yourself:
- I’m not good at languages, that’s why I don’t learn Italian.
- I need a drink to talk to her.
- I’m too old to start something like that.
My favorite: I’m not that type of guy/gal.
That’s the stupidest one of all. Following that logic: I’m not the type of guy that drives because I’ve never driven before.
It’s all horse___, you know? The lies you tell yourself. It’s all horse____.
Put another way: you’re not the person you know you could be, causa the lies you tell yourself.
I’m pensive. Turning 35 today. Halfway to getting my ticket punched, and still waiting for my real life to begin. Been thinking, maybe it begins when you stop lying to yourself. When you take that nasty truth, bite into it and swallow. Then go in for seconds.
Wish I did it a lot earlier myself. Then again, wish I bought Google at 300 bucks, kissed Stella in 9th grade, and didn’t have my life’s savings stolen. But whaddya gonna do?
A pretty lady from a sun-kissed beach just dropped me a line and another pretty lady’s heading my way for a spell. Plus there’s the weekend. Hoping for some awesome to head my way.
Some awesome, and maybe another whole wheat donut, would be nice.
Now…wish me a happy birthday, all of you bastards that read me and never say anything.
Location: 13:00 yest, Harlem
Music: Coming outta my cage and I’ve been doing just fine