I tell you one lie, and then another, and another, and another, and soon, it becomes natural for me to lie. I lie about this and I lie about that, and I do it without a hovering tip of hesitation. What has brought me to such a state? – where life is weaved by a string of lies. To safeguard my interests, I tell myself. But do they really? I remember reading an essay by Solomon, who wrote that if a person can lie about one thing then he can also lie about another; and so it is better to not lie at all, since people will begin to lose trust in you, and you’ll end up with nothing. Now, of course, there are times when I feel terrible about lying, but I just try to distract myself with trivial entertainment. I erase from my mind the feeling of guilt, or the wrought imaginations of what those whom have seen through my lies think of me. It is all too tiring and upsetting to think those thoughts. I am me, that’s all.