I lie.. a lot. Especially to my husband. Especially to my readers. And especially to myself.

Lying is a way of survival, it's a means to exist and excell when I'd otherwise be forgotten or disappear.

After sex my husband always asks, "Was it good" and sometimes he goes as far as asking me to rate it.... on a scale of 1 to 10. Take a moment, just think about that for a second. Imagine laying there, exhausted, your heart still racing, and being asked to rate how you just performed in bed or how your partner performed on a scale of 1 to 10. Now, imagine that partner asking you is both egotistical and highly sensitive, that either your answer will feed into his self-confidence, self-worth, and big head... or, it will destroy his self-confidence, destroy his self-worth, and make him not want to have sex again for a few days or weeks.

I am never honest when rating because to be perfectly honest, the sex hasn't been very good for almost a year now. In fact, most times it's actually pretty awful. I think I've been lucky to have mind blowing sex with extreme orgasmic results maybe 1 time out of 20. All the other times are mundane, full of lackluster orgasms (or none at all), and usually, poor lubrication due to not being worked up or not being into it.

But I lie because sometimes, honesty is ridiculous, honesty just makes a situation worse, honesty is not the best course of treatment. If I was about to die with cancer, I wouldn't want my doctor to tell me I had only a few weeks to live because it wouldn't give me anything to fight for- I wouldn't believe I had time so therefor, I wouldn't have time. I'd rule out any possibility of survival and be focused on that impending date of when I was going to die. Instead, I'd rather be told I had time, lots of time, and that I should enjoy it. And while I was enjoying my life, I might find new meanings to fight, new meanings that extended my life and improved the quality of it.

By rating sex a 10, I give him new meanings to try harder. But if I were to rate sex a 1, it would tell him there is nothing worth trying for. He would not see a 1 as an opportunity for improvement but rather a death sentence to an already dying sex life.

Rating sex is so ridiculous but this has become his post-coital ritual. It's like flossing before bed, you do it every night that it becomes like second nature. It gets to the point where you don't think about it, you just do it. I've tried to ignore it, I've tried not to answer him, I've tried to wait him out in hopes he falls asleep but he likes the answers, he likes the encouragement, he likes to feel like he's a sexy, virile man with amazing sexual prowess.

The fault for our lousy sex life does not lie with him but with me. I'm depressed and I try everyday to convince myself I'm not but it's just another lie I tell myself to survive my life. I hate to accept I have flaws and I'd rather just lie them away. I do this without meaning to. A few times I've flubbed on job applications making my little bit of college experience a degree, my few months of working somewhere into a year, or my hours and available days greater than they actually are. These little lies help me to survive amongst everyone else vying for the same position, they turn me from this mediocre person into someone far better than I actually am.

I fake self-confidence when truth be told I'm very insecure. I would not survive if I were to actually accept the person I am because when I think about all these small things about myself, they make up a huge picture of a person I would otherwise hate. And yes, I often hate myself but I lie, trying to convince myself my faults or imperfections aren't as bad as they really are. But then again, maybe they're not. See, we spend so long lying to ourselves that we soon believe the lie. Fiction becomes fact, tall tales become exact events, and lies and half truths because THE TRUTH, THE ONLY TRUTH.

This seems like such an odd post on an otherwise great day. Maybe a little introspection wouldn't hurt though, especially since I've been obsessed with the kitties for the last few days. I just wish I could be a little more honest, a little more real, to be as relate-able online as I am offline... because online I feel like such a boxed up bitch. And that's the truth. For once I can be honest, I feel like a bitch even when that's the opposite of every intention. I feel the way I write is snobby, preachy, and off-putting but you know what, sometimes I like my tone- I like feeling like an expert in a life where I otherwise feel like I know absolutely nothing at all.