fibs I tell myself

I'm making a confession: I'm a big liar.

Oh, not to you, and you, and you, over there, giving me the stink eye.

But I've been telling myself some whoppers, like:

I can lose weight, and eat higher cholesterol foods - I'm anemic and my cholesterol numbers are too low, of all things - jumping on my mini trampoline.

I will start/finish my novel any day now, once I research/self-actualize/catch up on House.

My kids will continue to grow spiritually at the church I have chosen, the one that has my heart.

I don't like what I know to be true.

I must work out harder, despite my chronic health problems, if I want to feel better, in the long haul.

I need to adhere to a daily writing routine. I need to find a writing group, though the idea sounds grueling and gives me hives.

And I have started dating a local, smaller church, one complete with a best friend and an active middle school youth group, for my girl. I think I've made the right decision for my family, but there's no denying I am a bit sad, letting go of the first church we've attended regularly, since I was a ministry major dropout.

What little white lies are holding you back?