I have only been at my new job a few days and I already have the feeling it’s not going to last very long. I get nervous when I meet new people: I want them to like me almost pathologically, so I haven’t stopped talking for three straight days. I don’t know why I think people want to listen to me talk for that long, but silence makes me anxious, so I talk and talk, and because there is not much to talk about, most of the things coming out of my mouth are untrue. I spent last night looking this up on the internet, and apparently it’s a real psychological malady called Compulsive Lying Disorder and I stayed up until three in the morning reading message boards about the condition. I am suddenly empowered by the fact that my dishonesty has a clinical name, and there are other people who walk around telling lies all day. Although some of the people in the online forums are clearly wasting the opportunity to have a medical community recognize their amorality as a sickness, like the guy who says he has been telling people he is a vegetarian for years but secretly eating meat. I can’t believe I have never looked into this before, I have been in four mental hospitals and lost about thirty really good friends, and until now I have chalked this up to my eccentric nature. I remember the Sarah with the Big Boobs telling me people in Los Angeles talk about me worse than they talk about their dogs: I guess this is what she was talking about.

I’ve never really been called out about my lying before, I guess I’m good at it, but I think some people have been suspicious over the years, because unless my friends and family think I like driving around in an antique car, they are probably aware I have not exactly achieved the level of success I tout in my stories. As I’ve gotten a little older, I have grown weary of making things up, at this point I mostly just cover up for all the lies I told in the past, but since this is a new job and I want to impress everyone, I have gotten a few classics out of the hall closet and brushed them off, such as the imminent nature of my book publishing, which in actuality is a deal I lost a long time ago having never handed in the manuscript. I remember hearing from the Billionaire’s Daughter a while ago that Fifi doubted I actually have Multiple Sclerosis. Sigh. I wish I had made that one up, and if I had I would have picked a disease that had a name I could pronounce.

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